


The Darkest Hour

by Retro_Controller



Series: The Lunar Eclipse Trilogy [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Blood, Blood Loss, Gen, Hospitals, I might add more tags as necessary, I'm not a monster I promise please believe me, Injury, Other, Pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Profanity, Suffering, Suicide, The volleyball babies have lots of emotions and are bad at handling them, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-07-29 15:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16266725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Retro_Controller/pseuds/Retro_Controller
Summary: “I’m sorry,” Ukai finally said, choking on his own voice, “He passed away. There was nothing they could do.”Every heart in the room fell to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces of fractured glass. One of their own, their teammate, had died. How could they possibly go to Nationals now?This is a sequel to Lunar Eclipse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys, I know it's been a couple months, but I'm finally here with the sequel to Lunar Eclipse! Sorry it took me so long to get this done, it took forever to get all my ideas for this story in a row. Unlike the last story, I don't have this written already, so these chapters are going up as I write them, and I'll try my best not to let too much time pass between each chapter. The Darkest Hour will also be updated on here on the same day I update it on FanFiction, so don't worry if you prefer one site over the other. Also, if you have any constructive criticism for me, I'm always looking to get better, so I'd love to hear it. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Haikyuu or any of its characters. This chapter in particular also features a couple characters playing Scrabble. I don't own that either. 
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy the story.

The Karasuno Boys' Volleyball team sat in the emergency room of Miyagi General Hospital for what they desperately hoped would be the last time. Each player kept to himself, twiddling his thumbs, scrolling through his phone, and performing any number of other mindless tasks only to avoid interaction with those next to him. Although unspoken, there was one question that permeated the room.

_Was he going to make it?_

Each player was afraid of what the answer to that question would be, pondering their uncertain future in the leaden silence of the hospital. Relief would only come when they knew the outcome for sure.

Avoiding the obvious question, Ennoshita decided to ask a different one.

"Does anyone know when coach said he'd be back?"

The boys looked anxiously around the room. None of them knew. The hotheaded Coach Ukai had left the room several minutes ago to talk to a doctor, a nurse, a family member - _someone_ \- to hopefully figure out what was happening, but hadn't returned almost fifteen minutes later. Finally breaking the silence, Yamaguchi spoke, his voice quivering with the smallness of a child.

"Guys… w-what if… what if - "

"Don't," Daichi warned as he shot a hard glare at his teammate, "Just… don't."

As if on cue, the hallway door creaked open to reveal their infamous coach standing at its threshold. Every pair of eyes in the room fell to him, only to be met with stoicism in return. He crossed the room, sat down in the middle of the group, and sighed, looking nowhere. Every player in the room knew - they had their answer. It was the moment of truth.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, choking on his own voice, "He passed away… There was nothing they could do."

Every heart in the room fell to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces of fractured glass. One of their own, their teammate, had died. How could they possibly go to Nationals now?

* * *

_~Several Days Earlier~_

"Tsukki, you can't use English! That's cheating!"

Kei Tsukishima gave his best friend one of his patented mischievous smirks as he drew his replacement _Romaji_ letter tiles from the cloth bag that sat on the bedside table between them. In an effort to get a better look at the board, he gently shifted in bed, careful to refrain from not only causing himself more pain, but also disturbing the attached IV line or heart monitor in the process. Failing to avoid the inevitable, he closed his eyes and groaned, but quickly turned his focus back to the game. Yamaguchi would rue the day he challenged Tsukishima to a game of Scrabble. He kept his fingers crossed for a few more consonants.

Tsukishima clicked his tongue as he drew his tiles and placed them in their tray. _What am I supposed to do with three A's?_

"There's nothing in the rules that says I can't use English," Tsukishima continued aloud, covering up his disappointment, "A word is a word." He watched as Yamaguchi laughed and returned Tsukishima's mischievous glare. Who ever said his best friend was a pushover?

As Tsukishima waited for Yamaguchi to make his next move, he let his mind wonder to his parents. _What's taking them so long?_ He asked himself, side eyeing the door leading out of his room, _I was supposed to be discharged over an hour ago._

If there was anything in the world Tsukishima wanted right now, it was to finally get out of the hospital. It had been almost a week and a half since the shooting, and the plain white walls and boring TV were seriously starting to overstay their welcome. It wasn't so much that there was never anything interesting on TV, but that it was the only means of entertainment in the room, and he was hurt far too badly to get up and find something else to do.

As was expected with the gunshot wound that put him in the hospital in the first place, Tsukishima was bedridden. He didn't mind the boredom at first. In fact, for his first few days awake after the surgery, doing anything other than lying completely motionless was agonizing - he just focused on willing away his pain. However, as time wore on and his body healed, Tsukishima found he needed less mental energy to keep his pain at bay, and with his decrease in suffering he found an increase in boredom. He was still mostly bedridden, but he could actually sit up and walk on his own, even if only for a few minutes at a time, and taking too deep of a breath no longer felt like his ribs were being torn out of his chest. The fact that he was no longer in that kind of agony was a welcome respite, but it only made the lack of sources of entertainment in the room that much more obvious. It made him extremely grateful when Yamaguchi started showing up every day with board games.

"Hah! Take that!"

Snapping out of his thoughts, Tsukishima looked down at the board and noticed a word he'd never seen before.

"Braun," he muttered, "What does that mean?" Yamaguchi continued to smirk.

"It's German for brown." Tsukishima knit his eyebrows together in frustration.

"Since when do you know German?"

"Since I looked it up just now while you were daydreaming."

" _That_ is cheating."

Another thing his gaming sessions with Yamaguchi gave him, other than relief from boredom, was relief from his parents. Amaya and Yoshirou had become almost unbearable since his brother's death, each making his life miserable in different ways. Yoshirou had begun to close himself off. After his outburst of emotion at Akiteru's funeral, he seemed to be drained of any emotion at all, electing most days to do nothing but stare at his phone or lock himself away at the office, working hours of overtime t=for which the company would never pay him . Amaya, however, had gone in the other direction. She'd turned into the ultimate helicopter mom, fussing over every aspect of Tsukishima's recovery, no matter how miniscule. She seemed to be constantly on the verge of crying, and burst into sobs at the slightest utterance of Akiteru's name. No matter what kind of conversation Tsukishima tried to start, he couldn't seem to get his parents to actually talk to each other. He wondered why he even tried in the first place.

It made it difficult for Tsukishima to deal with his own grief. He wasn't a touchy-feely person by nature, and the fact that his parents were too absorbed in their own grief to deal with anything else around them did nothing but put more pressure on him to navigate his problems on his own. Although he hated to admit it, Tsukishima was having a hard time handling the grief from his older brother's death, and not having his parents to confide in only made it that much worse. After a full day of not only managing his physical and emotional pain, but also playing referee between his parents, Yamaguchi's entrance into Tsukishima's hospital room was like a breath of fresh air.

Turning his attention back to the game, Tsukishima looked at his tiles and considered what kind of word he could make with mostly vowels. Just as he was about to throw away his turn with a smaller word, giving himself a few tile openings to hopefully draw some more useable letters, Yamaguchi turned the conversation in another direction.

"So… do you know when you'll be going back to school?" The question took Tsukishima off guard.

"Not really. I assume I'll have to be out of the wheelchair first. They probably don't want me tearing my stitches trying to carry my books from one room to the next."

"Yeah…"

Silence. A pensive look spread over Yamaguchi's face; his frown deepened and his eyes glassed over, far away.

"Hey, Tsukki?"

"Hmm?"

""Well… It's just that…" Yamaguchi glanced away from his best friend's gaze and a nervous pink flushed his cheeks. "You know how relieved we are that you're okay, right?"

Tsukishima's brows furrowed, his eyes sinking into their sockets, anger deepening the lines in his face. They'd had this conversation before. Yamaguchi had brought it up not long after Akiteru's funeral, and Tsukishima had reacted with more malice than he thought he had in him. The freckled server probably meant the question to be comforting, since he, the team, and Tsukishima's parents were relieved that he didn't share his brother's fate, and it was in honor of that relief that he tried to keep his cool.

"Yamaguchi, don't - " But Yamaguchi, overcome with emotion, got up from his chair.

"I'm serious, Tsukki! You can't just brush me off every time I bring this up."

Yamaguchi began to shake as tears tugged at the corners of his eyes. He gripped the railing of his best friend's hospital bed, his knuckles just as white as they had been the first day he saw the blocker awake.

"You're my best friend and you almost died. Do you even realize how lucky you are that things happened the way they did?"

Tsukishima's time with Yamaguchi was supposed to be a break from the tragedy that clung to him like a shadow. Every time he thought he could escape its grasp he felt the gruesome details of his recent tragedies close in on him, right there beside him every time he turned around. Why couldn't Yamaguchi just stop talking about his tragedy for one moment and let him be? He was stupid for believing that he could ever have a peaceful moment to himself.

"Lucky!?" he shouted, letting out the full force of his desperation, his heart monitor spiking with his anger, "I was shot! I can't play volleyball. I can't dress myself. I can't even walk without help! How in the hell is that lucky?"

The pinch server slammed his hands onto the table, knocking Scrabble pieces all over the bed and floor.

"Because you're alive!" It was at that point Yamaguchi broke down, tears pouring down his face as he struggled to breathe through his heartache. He fell to his knees as he sobbed, looking up at the painful rage of the first friend he had ever known. His voice quieted to almost a whisper. "You're alive. You're my best friend, and you're alive. Do you really think I care about anything else?"

Before Tsukishima had a chance to retort, the door to his room flung open, revealing a nurse and both his parents, worry etched into each of their faces.

"Kei, what happened? What's wrong?" Amaya asked, eyes wide and fearful.

The nurse rushed to Tsukishima's bedside and checked vitals and charts, quickly making sure he hadn't taken a sudden turn for the worse in their absence. Amaya and Yoshirou followed closely behind, eager to see what was the matter with their son. It didn't take either of them long to notice the overturned Scrabble board, pieces littering the bed and floor.

"He's fine." the nurse was saying beside them, "His heart monitor just spiked."

Amaya knew why. She watched as her son avoided her question, choosing to look down at the IV line in his wrist instead, picking at the tape for the umpteenth time that week. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yamaguchi kneeling on the floor, slowly picking up the pieces of the upset board game, all the while avoiding her son's angry gaze. It was obvious. For the first time in a long time, Kei and Tadashi had a fight.

Amaya took the now vacated chair at Tsukishima's bedside and stroked his hair.

"How are you feeling, honey?" Her son stiffened underneath her touch, avoiding her gaze.

"Fine."

"At any rate," Yoshirou interjected, deadpan, "The paperwork for your discharge is done, so the nurse here is going to get you ready to go." Amaya held up a faded blue duffel bag, marked 'Anemaru Middle School VBC' on one side and 'Tsukishima #4' on the other in peeling white lettering.

"Here, I brought you a clean change of clothes," she continued, "I figured jeans would be too uncomfortable, so you have a pair of sweatpants in there, as well as pajama pants in case the elastic in the sweatpants is too tight near your incision. I packed a couple different T-shirts so you can pick what you like, as well as a fresh pair of underwear - "

"Thanks, mom." Tsukishima interrupted before his mother could say anything else to embarrass him. At first glance, he thought his mother had brought his old middle school volleyball bag, given the school's name emblazoned on the front. Upon taking a closer look, he noticed one small detail that his mother apparently had not.

_Number four_ , he realized, _I was number eight. That's not my bag - It's Akiteru's._

It made sense that his mother might confuse the two. Both he and his brother had been on the volleyball team in middle school, and the school had been using the same design for the Boys' Volleyball Club sports bags for years. Since the bags were marked by last name instead of first name, and the brothers were far enough apart in age that there was no need to distinguish between them on the same team, both bags were labeled 'Tsukishima.' The only difference between the two was the jersey number on the side pocket.

He doubted Amaya had noticed that she'd grabbed the wrong bag; any mention of Akiteru sent her into a wild fit of hysterics. In fact, he wondered if his mother even remembered which of them had worn which number. He looked up to see if his father had noticed, and sure enough, Yoshirou wasn't even looking in his direction, choosing instead to rifle through his phone.

Tsukishima suppressed a twinge of heartache at the happy memories the bag brought him. He thought of all Akiteru's games he'd gone to when he was little, back when his brother was still the ace and Tsukishima still didn't know the people he idolized weren't invincible. He missed the days when he could love his brother unconditionally, without the tragedy of his betrayal or his death coming along for the ride. Despite the influx of nostalgic emotion, he couldn't let Amaya know what was going through his head, or she'd catch on. His mother was emotional, but she wasn't stupid. So despite the tumult of grief that whirled around in his mind, Tsukishima kept his face blank and unreadable.

"If you'll give us a minute," the nurse began, "I'll get him changed and ready to go." The Tsukishimas turned to leave the room, and Yamaguchi, once he'd finished cleaning up the board game, followed suit.

* * *

Several minutes later, the group found themselves back near the ICU nurse's station talking with Tsukishima's attending physician, Dr. Fujimori. Tsukishima was fully dressed in a pair of green plaid pajama pants and a navy blue t-shirt, sitting in a wheelchair at his father's left. Amaya stood behind them, and Yamaguchi stood to Tsukishima's left, on the opposite side as Yoshirou. The IV line had been removed, a small patch of gauze taped to the blocker's left wrist the only remaining visible sign on Tsukishima's body that anything had been wrong with him at all.

"His outpatient physical therapy will be here on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 9am. It will probably take him a couple more weeks until he can fully function on his own again, but as long as he keeps up with his therapy he should heal in no time. I also want you to bring him back to see me about a week from now so we can see about getting those stitches out. How does next Monday at 11am sound?"

Amaya and Yoshirou expressed their agreement with a couple polite affirmatives.

"Excellent. And last but not least," he said as he handed the couple a few small white sheets of paper, "Here are a few prescriptions for him for the next few weeks as well. There are some pain medications and antibiotics in there among other things. The pharmacy downstairs will give you instructions when filling them."

Amaya took the prescriptions and put them in her purse while Dr. Fujimori placed his hand on the arm of Tsukishima's wheelchair. Smiling, he looked up at Amaya and Yoshirou.

"Take care of him. He's a good kid." He glanced down at Tsukishima.

"And stay out of trouble!" he scolded with a wink and a smile. Tsukishima nodded politely, but gave no other reaction.

"If you have any questions about anything, feel free to call the hospital. They'll put you in touch with me and I can answer anything you need." The four of them expressed their thanks and watched as Dr. Fujimori walked away from them, returning to attend to his other hospital duties.

* * *

After the twenty minutes it took for Amaya and Yoshirou to get Tsukishima's prescriptions filled at the hospital pharmacy, the small family, with Yamaguchi in tow, finally found themselves at the front entrance to Miyagi General Hospital. Yamaguchi tentatively looked over at his best friend, who was still looking down at his lap, stubbornly avoiding his eyes.

_He's really mad this time..._ Yamaguchi found himself thinking as he considered saying something to get Tsukki's attention. The last time he and Tsukki fought, it was over before Yamaguchi realized it had begun. Contrary to what most people thought, Tsukki had a hard time staying angry with people. Sure he liked to rile up their more rowdy teammates when he was annoyed with them, but Tsukki didn't hold grudges. Even when he had his falling out with Akiteru, he was more hurt than angry. Yamaguchi could tell from the look in Tsukki's eyes whenever he brought up Akiteru's name those first few months after the incident in middle school, Tsukki was avoiding his brother because he was afraid of getting hurt, not because he still held onto any sort of anger over what Akiteru had done.

That's why Tsukki's silence now scared him so much; his best friend was clearly still angry. _Honestly_ , Yamaguchi thought, _I wonder if Tsukki even knows what he's feeling right now_. Between the trauma of the shooting and the grief over his brother's death, Yamaguchi wouldn't have been surprised if Tsukki just wanted to sort out his emotions before facing what happened to him.

Yamaguchi followed his train of thought as Yoshirou took his place at the front of the group, holding open the door so his wife could push their injured son outside. The businessman waved Yamaguchi through first, and Amaya and Tsukishima followed behind him, careful not to get the wheelchair stuck on the lip in the doorway. After the other three were outside, Yoshirou stepped out himself, letting the door slowly close behind him. Stiff, yet with the suavity of a gentleman, Yoshirou took the car keys from his pocket and held them up for the group to see.

"I'll bring the car around," he said as he slipped away in the direction of the family minivan, leaving Amaya alone with her son and his friend. Yamaguchi watched Tsukishima as he raised his hands from his lap and gripped the arm rests of the wheelchair. His face shifted from a forced calm to obvious tension as he attempted to push himself onto his feet. Startled, Yamaguchi and Amaya were at his side in an instant.

"Kei, honey, wait until your father gets here with the car. Don't strain yourself."

"Tsukki, it's okay, you don't have to get up yet - "

But Tsukishima wasn't in the mood to listen. Slowly, and with a great deal of effort, he took in his first breath of fresh air since the night he was shot and stood on his own. Yamaguchi couldn't explain why, but there was a certain air around Tsukishima that made the idea of his taking it easy seem foolish. A fierce determination that swallowed him whole.

Confident, Tsukishima took a step forward. Pain shot through his abdomen and into his chest, producing a painful cry. His knees buckled underneath him as Amaya and Yamaguchi rushed forward, each catching him underneath one arm to steady him and keep him on his feet.

"It's okay, baby. I've got you." Amaya whispered as she supported her share of her son's weight.

Yamaguchi watched his best friend struggle to do the most basic of tasks and realized that his friend's anger didn't matter. _Tsukki is struggling, in more ways than one_ , Yamaguchi thought as he watched the pain spread over his friend's face. What he felt toward his best friend right now wasn't what mattered most. _What matters_ , he continued, _is that I am exactly where I am right now: At his side, ready to catch him if he falls._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Sorry this chapter took so long. I had written several chapters before posting the first one in an attempt to keep myself from falling behind, and then I ended up writing a completely new chapter anyway to make the story smoother :/
> 
> So anyway, here's chapter two, and I hope you all enjoy it. Remember, comment or leave kudos if you feel so inclined, and I am always open to constructive criticism. Thanks!

The next day the early morning sunlight shimmered through the windows of the Sugawara household. As his parents slowly began to wake up, stirring themselves into consciousness, Koushi Sugawara stood in the upstairs bathroom, undressing himself for his daily morning shower. His school uniform was folded neatly on the toilet lid, pristine black dress pants and white button up stacked on top of each other, an undershirt, white socks, and a fresh pair of boxers on top of them. His jacket, he knew, was waiting for him in the closet of his bedroom. The towel and washcloth that he’d pulled from the linen closet hung on the towel rack on the adjacent wall, splitting the difference between the toilet lid where his clean clothing sat, and the bathtub/shower-head unit on the other side of the small bathroom. 

Sugawara stood, barefoot on the cold, pale tile, and pulled his t-shirt over his head, standing in nothing but his pajama pants. Dropping the shirt loosely onto the floor, he lifted his hands again, fit his fingers around the waistbands of both his pants and boxers, and shed those as well in one smooth motion.

_Cold…_

Despite being almost April, the weather still hadn’t settled regularly into comfortable spring warmth, and the air that morning was cold enough that Sugawara could feel goosebumps begin to prickle his skin. He thought for a moment that he could see his breath in the air if he tried, but dismissed the thought as ridiculous. 

As he turned to step into the shower, Sugawara caught his reflection in the full body mirror on the back of the door and stopped. His skin was pale, made lighter by the snow white decor of the bathroom and the dim morning light filtering in through the window. He could pick out every blemish in his skin - every mole, every scar. He could count his goosebumps like peaks in a mountain range, standing out against the normal tone of his skin. Looking up at his face, he found the dark bruises that seemed permanently plastered under his eyes, painted like tattoos. The chocolate brown of his irises were dim. His expression was worn, jaded. 

_When did you get to be so tired, Koushi?_

He thought back to his first days after the incident, to the first days Sugawara stopped feeling like himself. Fatigue set in like a curse, as it became increasingly harder to wake up to his morning alarm. The later he would sleep, the more difficult it was to focus throughout the day, and the more likely it was to accidentally oversleep and miss morning practice. On the few occasions when he did force himself awake, he had a migraine by the time he arrived at school, one that stayed no matter how many pain meds he took, or how much water he drank. 

He tried to go to sleep earlier to make up for it, but quickly found that it was also harder for him to fall asleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw grisly images of Tsukishima, bloodsoaked and dying, gasping and writhing on the white tile floor of the Family Mart. He felt trapped, held captive by the visions unfolding in front of him. He would watch helplessly as Tsukishima slowly bled out in front of him, paralyzed until his teammate’s heart stopped beating, the fear in his eyes frozen in death. 

And then Sugawara would open his eyes, discover that almost no time had passed, and that his fear had made him even more sleepless than before. It was a vicious cycle, one that never allowed him to sleep until far past two in the morning. 

Shaking his head and breaking his fixation on his reflection in the mirror, Sugawara stepped into the bathtub. Drawing the curtain closed, he turned on the faucet and pulled the stopper, opening the shower head. The setter closed his eyes as the hot water poured over him, cascading down his shivering form in tiny rivulets and filling the room with steam. Taking a deep breath in, he reached for a bottle of shampoo, squeezed a dollop into his hand, and began to massage it through his silver hair. 

At first it bothered him that he was missing so much morning practice, but like everything else in his life lately, that annoyance had numbed. 

_It doesn’t matter if I don’t go today_ , he would tell himself, _I can’t bring my all if I’m not feeling well. I’ll feel better tomorrow._

But tomorrow never brought the rest that he needed, and each new day held more of the same. Eventually, it reached a head when Sugawara’s mother noticed he’d been skipping, and suggested he see a therapist. 

_“Koushi, pumpkin, you can’t keep going like this. What you went through is a big deal. If you’re having problems adjusting, let me help you.”_

_Sugawara frowned, stood from the kitchen table, and took his dinner dishes to the sink. It had been three days since Akiteru’s funeral, and he wasn’t surprised that his mother had noticed the differences in him. Taking the sponge from its holder, he began to wash the dishes, not so much out of the kindness of his heart, but so that he didn’t have to look his mother in the eye._

_“Mom, I know what you’re trying to do, but I’m fine. I don’t need any help. I can handle this on my own.”_

_But even as the words passed his lips he knew they were lies. He swung rapidly from complete, soul-numbing apathy to unbearable heartache, and he rarely felt anything in between. The pleasant calm that usually dominated his moods had deserted him, and Sugawara did not recognize the empty husk of a boy it left behind._

_Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder and, turning around, saw his mother standing in front of him. Her pleading expression begged him to listen, and before he knew it, she had pulled him into a close, heartfelt hug._

_“I love you, Koushi,” she whispered into his ear, placing a gentle hand on the back of his head as she spoke, “I can’t stand to see you hurting. Please let me help you.”_

He reluctantly agreed, and the next morning she called the closest therapist who saw minors in town and scheduled him his first appointment. As Sugawara rinsed the shampoo from his hair, he reflected on the decision he’d made that night. Having had a couple appointments with the therapist since then, Sugawara realized that although she was a lovely and kind person (honestly, she reminded him a bit of Kiku), he didn’t feel like his sessions with her were helping him. He still had the night terrors, the sudden flashbacks to the shooting that came with little to no warning, and waking up in the morning still felt like a chore. His mother told him that these things took time, and that he shouldn’t expect results right away, but Sugawara still felt like something about the whole situation wasn’t quite right. 

Following up on the shampoo with some conditioner, Sugawara ran the slimy substance through his hair with his fingertips, working it into his very roots. He then reached quickly into the freezing cold of the world outside his shower and snatched his washcloth from the towel rack. Rinsing it and squeezing body wash onto the cloth, he massaged it over his body, ridding himself of all the sweat, dirt, and oils of the previous day. 

What would Sugawara do if the therapy didn’t work? Would he stay like this forever, eternally tired, uncaring, and afraid to look at himself in the mirror? He was sure his mother would think of another solution - maybe she’d take him to another therapist. Regardless, he was afraid of living the rest of his life a shell of the person he used to be. 

Climbing out of the shower, he grabbed the towel from the rack beside him and after giving his hair and body a quick once over with it, tossed it to the floor. Taking a few moments to dress himself in the clean clothes he’d laid out on the toilet lid, Sugawara took one last look in the mirror. 

_What are you doing with yourself, Koushi?_

What scared him the most about the question was simple: He didn’t know. 

* * *

If there was one family rule Chizue Sugawara always believed in, it was to keep a clean, well-stocked kitchen. Growing up, her family had always considered food the ultimate source of happiness, and throughout her married life, she made it a point to keep her kitchen as spotless and overflowing as humanly possible. Any negative situation could be resolved, or at least momentarily eased, with food. Whether it was a failed test, a lost job, or even a funeral, a hot meal and a warm cup of tea could ease the most broken of hearts. It was for this reason that, when she came downstairs to find her son Koushi staring into the pantry with a look akin to disgust, she was immediately concerned. 

“Koushi,” she cooed, stepping onto the threshold between the kitchen and the cramped little pantry, “What's wrong?” 

Her son kept his focus on the open cabinets, not bothering to look up in recognition of her question. 

“I'm just…” He paused. She could see the gears turning in his mind. “... not hungry, I guess.” 

Chizue’s mouth tightened into a thin line. She knew Koushi hadn't been feeling like himself since the tragedy, but she'd never seen him skip meals before. It was a sign his moods were becoming worse. Closing the distance between them, she reached up and pulled his face down to hers, kissing him firmly on the cheek. 

_My precious little pumpkin_ , she mused, thumbing the tiny freckle Koushi had just under his left eye. 

“You've had that mole since you were an infant. Your grandmother always called it a beauty mark.” the teen sighed and gently pulled away from his mother's touch, a deep sadness burning behind his eyes. 

“Mom…”

“Koushi, look,” Chizue began, taking her only child’s hands in hers, “I may not be able to understand what you're going through, but I can see what it's doing to you. I'm not asking you to completely open up to me.”

She reached into the pantry, pulled out a cereal bar and placed it in his hand, delicately folding his fingers over its reflective packaging.

“But I am asking that you take care of yourself. That's not too much, is it?” 

He sighed again, his lips widening into a shy smile. 

“No, it's not. Thanks, mom.” 

“Of course, baby.” 

Sugawara pulled out his phone, looked at the home screen, and nearly dropped it in surprise. 

“Oh! I'm going to be late!” 

Giving his mother a quick hug, he shoved the cereal bar into the pocket of his jacket. All but running through the kitchen, he stopped just short of the front door and turned back around. 

“By the way,” he said, “Is there any way you could change my therapy appointments to a different time? They're always right after school, and I keep missing volleyball.” 

Chizue felt a sharp pang of sadness pierce her chest, a wave of guilt slowly engulfing her. 

“I'm sorry, dear, Dr. Tamura said that was the only time she had open.” 

She watched her son’s face fall, his disappointment evident in the expression he was desperately trying to hide. It only made her guilt worse.

“Well… that's fine,” he replied in a voice that sounded a little too forced, “I guess it's for the best. Love you, mom. See you after school.”

He was through the door before Chizue had a chance to say goodbye. 

* * *

It was thirty minutes into fifth period when Sugawara noticed he’d spent more time looking at the clock on the wall beside him than at his teacher lecturing in front of him. As the seconds slowly ticked away, echoing throughout the nearly silent room, Sugawara tapped his pencil nervously against the edge of his desk. He tried not to look at the clock anymore, in an effort to keep the small movement of the hands from distracting him, but he found he couldn't look anywhere on the opposite side of the room either, as the slowly undulating slats over the windows cast moving shadows, patterns of light and darkness that distracted the setter even more than the ticking hands of the clock. Determined not to let his restlessness get the better of him, he sat with his head tilted down and focused on his unopened textbook instead. He tried to listen to what his teacher was saying. 

“... so if you add these numbers here…” 

_It's useless. I have no idea what he's talking about._

“Sugawara!” The setter’s head snapped to attention. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Using the method I've just described, can you tell me the answer to the example question on the next page?”

Sugawara looked directly at his teacher for the first time all period. He tried to remember what page to turn to, what problem he was supposed to be looking at, what calculations he was supposed to use, but the effort was futile. He hadn’t been paying attention, and therefore had less than a clue of what his teacher wanted him to do. 

Sweating, he glanced down at his textbook. He opened it, and began flipping pages until something looked familiar. Eventually he found a chapter he recognized, but soon encountered a new problem. 

_Wait, how long has it been since we started Polynomials? How far did we get?_

He remembered starting the section, but the days had blended together so much since then that he couldn’t remember how long ago that was. Beginning to panic, he glanced up at the chalkboard to hopefully gain some sort of clue, but couldn’t make heads or tails of it. 

“I’m waiting, Mr. Sugawara.” 

Sugawara looked at his teacher again and winced. He’d never been in trouble with a teacher before, and imagining what it would be like to be scolded in front of his classmates for disrupting the lecture made him nervous. Not only that, but with all the college prep conversations he, Daichi, and Asahi had with the teachers before the Spring Tournament, it wasn’t out of the question for the school to kick him off the volleyball team if his grades slipped too much. He’d have liked to say the thought hadn’t occurred to him earlier, during all the other classes he’d neglected, but unfortunately it did - he just never cared before. Not until his apathy had gone too far did it disappear, and Sugawara found himself hating every second of the mess he’d gotten himself into. 

“Is there a problem, Mr. Sugawara?” 

“N-No, Mr. Sato.” 

“Then what is the answer to the question?” Sugawara fiddled with his pencil some more. 

“I… um…” 

What was he going to say? He could try to look at another student's textbook, but that would be cheating, in a sense, and the repercussions for cheating were far worse than the ones for not paying attention in class. He wracked his brain for answers, but came up with nothing. 

“Mr. Sugawara!” 

He was out of time. The whole class was looking at him now, staring wide-eyed like a bunch of little kids at a circus. 

“Do you know which problem I'm talking about, Mr. Sugawara?” The setter hanged his head. Tears began to well up in his eyes, but he blinked them away. 

“No, sir.”

“Do you know what we've been discussing in class today?” 

“... No, sir.” 

“I see.” 

Sugawara looked up at Mr. Sato’s disapproving face and instinctively flinched. He was a stony-faced man in his late sixties, tall, with hard lines and dark features. His eyebrows furrowed together in a glare that was more frightening than any other teacher in the school. There were scores of students who would curse their luck to get stuck with him as a substitute, nevermind being trapped in a classroom with him every day. Sugawara knew that with Mr. Sato in charge, his punishment was bound to be severe. 

“You need to learn to pay attention in class, Mr. Sugawara. You will talk with me here in this classroom after school today.” 

_But therapy -_

“Sir, I can't, I - ”

“I will waste no more of my time arguing with you. We’ll discuss it after class.”

The matter ended there, as Mr. Sato turned to another student and asked the same question Sugawara had failed to answer. 

As it turned out, Sugawara’s after class meeting with Mr. Sato turned out even worse than he’d imagined it would. After several minutes of insisting, he was able to convince the third-year math teacher that he couldn't do his punishment after school due to therapy, and the grumbling old man settled on Saturday detention instead. 

_“I will let you off this once,” he said, “As long as you attend detention here at the library this Saturday.”_

Sugawara would have taken almost any punishment other than Saturday detention. Ukai occasionally held practices on Saturdays, usually to get Hinata and Kageyama to stop bugging him, and they were the most fun practices of all. During Saturday practices, Ukai let them play games with looser rules rather than do drills, and it gave them a freedom they didn’t have during the week. Daichi had told him a couple days ago that Ukai was going to hold one this weekend, and now Sugawara would have to miss it. He knew it would put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day. 

The setter was contemplating his bad mood as he left the ornery old math teacher’s classroom and ran into Daichi outside the door. The captain grabbed Sugawara by the strap of his bag before he could take off down the hall, his firm grip keeping Sugawara from escaping. 

“Hey, Suga,” he said, his usually stern tone softer than normal, “I wanted to ask if you were going to join me for lunch.”

Sugawara sighed. If anyone on the team could tell when he was upset, it was Daichi. Before the incident, whenever the silver-haired teen stopped to cheer up a struggling teammate, he knew his intentions were friendly. Sometimes the teammate in question would reject his sympathy (usually Tsukishima), but he could never understand why. Didn’t they want to feel better? Didn’t they want to resolve whatever was troubling them? 

It wasn’t until Sugawara found himself in the same situation that he finally understood - the primary difference was guilt. Not only did he feel guilty for the position in which he’d found himself - after all, it was his decisions not to go to practice or pay attention in class - but he also felt guilty about letting Daichi help him. Intellectually, he knew it wasn’t a rational thought. Daichi was always ready to help him out of a tough situation, just like he was always ready to do the same for Daichi. But regardless, the thought that his problems would only be a burden to his classmate rang in his ears like an old church bell. How could he possibly force that on Daichi, after everything the captain had done for him? 

_What’s wrong with you, Koushi?_ , he scolded, _This isn’t like you. What are you doing?_

The self-reprimand didn’t stop him, as he swallowed it along with the lump that had formed in the back of his throat. 

“No, not today,” he replied with a half-hearted smile, suddenly remembering that he hadn’t even packed himself a lunch before leaving the house, “I’m actually not eating lunch today. I had a big breakfast.” 

The lie left a sour taste in Sugawara’s mouth, but it was better than telling Daichi the truth and watching it explode in his face. He could feel the uneaten cereal bar weigh down his pocket as if it were made of lead. It was the first time he’d thought of food since he’d left his house, and his stomach grumbled in response. He almost considered actually eating it, and he knew he had a few loose coins rattling around in his bag he could use in the vending machines in the courtyard, as well, but with the hunger came a wave of nausea that pushed the thought of food back out of the setter’s mind. He might eat something later, once he calmed down. 

Daichi raised an eyebrow at the reply and, for a moment, Sugawara thought his teammate had discovered his lie. The captain just sighed, however, and gave Sugawara a relaxed smile. 

“Alright, just let me know if you change your mind. Asahi and I will be in homeroom until sixth period.” 

Sugawara was about to leave when Daichi spoke up again. 

“By the way,” he added, “You’ll be at practice today, right?” The setter’s face fell. 

“Well, actually… I have therapy again.” 

“Oh, Okay. Well, if you get out early, or your schedule changes, you know where to find us.” 

For a moment, he thought he saw a brief look of disappointment flash across his captain’s face, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. Daichi had quickly replaced it with his smile from moments ago.

Sugawara thanked the captain as he turned and continued down the hallway, a new problem suddenly in his way. If Daichi and Asahi were in homeroom eating lunch, it meant he couldn’t go back there to hide out until sixth period. He briefly considered going out to the courtyard, but the weather had been cold and rainy all day, and he didn’t want to sit outside for almost a half an hour without an umbrella or raincoat. As if to confirm his conclusion, he faced the window on the opposite side of the hall and watched the falling water drizzle onto the glass in a multitude of soft _plips_. As much as he didn’t want to be outside in the rain, he usually enjoyed sitting inside and listening to it. 

That was when the thought occurred to him: the library. Karasuno’s school library had a large window in one corner, the surrounding space decorated with chairs and tables, perfect for students to gather and study. Sugawara used it occasionally during his study hall to read or get homework done, as he generally considered it the most comfortable and relaxing place in the school. He knew if he ever wanted someplace to calm down, the library reading area was the best spot. 

As the setter was soon to find out, however, a period of relaxation in the library was not meant to be. He had just passed the science lab, about halfway to his destination, when the science teacher, Mrs. Onishi, stopped him in the hallway. 

“Sugawara!” she called as she bounded toward the teen, her dark ponytail waving behind her. Sugawara stopped in his tracks. “What great timing! Could you do me a favor?” 

He forced a smile onto his face. 

“Sure,” he replied with his usual gentle charm, “How can I help?” She snapped a hair tie against her wrist as she spoke. 

“I need more test tubes for the second-years’ lab exam next period. Could you get me another box from the supply room down the hall? They’re on the bottom shelf right near the door; it should only take a couple minutes.” 

“Of course. I’ll be back soon.” 

Sugawara walked back down the hall, grateful for a task to keep him occupied. Anything, even running errands for teachers, was better than sitting by himself and stewing in silence. The supply room was an unused classroom in the second year hall that the school used to store extra class supplies, and every student in the school knew where it was. It had a reputation as an empty space where students could go to fool around if they didn’t want to get caught by the vice principal. Nishinoya used it sometimes to skip class when it was too cold to sit outside in his usual spot by the school’s back entrance, and he’d heard of other students using it to smoke, or make out as well. He hoped it would be empty today. After his fiasco with Mr. Sato, he really didn’t want to end up freaking out in front of people and getting in trouble with another teacher for not doing what he was supposed to be doing. Much to his chagrin, though, once he opened the door, there were a few students he didn’t recognize already inside, their hushed voices in the midst of conversation. 

“You're kidding,” the dark-haired boy exclaimed as he searched through boxes on a high shelf on the opposite side of the room. He stood on a ladder to reach them, periodically handing them down to the blonde girl at his side. “That Hinata kid did what last week?” Looking at them, Sugawara figured they couldn’t be older than first years. 

“Yeah, where have you been, under a rock? There was a fight between those two volleyball blockheads the Friday before last. Actually, I heard Kageyama started it, not Hinata, but whatever. Those two are always attracting attention.” 

Sugawara snuck into the room unnoticed, partially, he figured, because the first years were so focused on their conversation. Getting down onto his knees, he searched the bottom shelves near the door for test tubes, silent as a ghost. 

“What were they fighting about?” the boy asked. He seemed genuinely curious. 

“Something about volleyball. Nozomi was in the classroom next door at the time and said she saw the whole thing! Apparently, Kageyama was shouting about not going to Nationals because their volleyball team was falling apart.” 

“What?” the boy exclaimed, nearly falling from his ladder, “But I thought they beat Shiratorizawa!”

“They did,” the girl said as she bent down, retaping boxes with masking tape, “I saw the game myself. Half the school went - but Kageyama never explained himself. Nozomi said Mrs. Nakada broke up the fight before he could say anything else.” 

Sugawara would have liked to say that he was surprised to hear people still talking about Hinata and Kageyama’s fight, but that was far from the truth. If there was one thing Sugawara had noticed about high school, it was that teenagers loved to gossip, with very few exceptions. It had taken him several days, but he was starting to get used to hearing people talk about the team. Afterall, it was the first time Karasuno’s Boys’ Volleyball Team had gotten to Nationals in a while - it was big news. Sugawara was glad he was all the way near the door, or they might recognize him as another member of the volleyball team. He figured he’d better get what he came for and scram, though, before any of that changed. 

“Now that you mention it,” the boy began, pausing his work to put a hand thoughtfully to his chin, “Hasn’t the volleyball team seemed a little... on edge?” 

“Yeah, they have.” The girl put her scissors and masking tape on a nearby shelf, taking the opportunity to use one of the packaged boxes as a makeshift chair. “I ran into Nishinoya after school the other day. I said hello to him, and he practically jumped out of his skin. What’s up with that, do you think?” 

The boy turned and sat on the edge of the ladder. 

“Well, there was that shooting on the news the same day as the fight. Do you think that had anything to do with it?” 

Sugawara froze. Panic overcame him as his skin clammed up, all the heat draining from his hands and face. He felt a cold sweat cascade down his back as goosebumps appeared in droves. 

He was not prepared for them to talk about the incident. He couldn’t believe they had put it together so fast, especially since there was nothing in that news story linking the volleyball team to the shooting. He needed to find those test tubes and scram. 

_Come on, where are they!? I thought they were supposed to be on one of the bottom shelves!?_

He slid over to check another nearby shelf. 

“I remember that!” the girl cried out, snapping her fingers and interrupting Sugawara’s train of thought, “I saw the article online during my free period. It said the victim was a Karasuno first year. You don’t think it was someone on the volleyball team, do you?” 

“Well, we can’t know for sure, but what if it was? It wouldn’t be Hinata or Kageyama because they were in school that day.” 

_They’re so close_ , Sugawara thought, alarm bells going off in every corner of his brain. He opened box after box but found nothing, his fingers trembling and becoming increasingly numb with each cardboard flap he lifted. He couldn’t go back to Mrs. Onishi empty-handed. He was already in trouble with Mr. Sato. What if he couldn’t find them? 

“Well, who else is a first year on the volleyball team?” the girl asked. 

“What about that Yamaguchi kid? He wasn’t at school that day. He’s pretty quiet, but it would make sense if he got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.” The girl leaned back against the shelf behind her, closing her eyes in thought. 

“Nah, he was absent the first day, sure, but he was back on Monday. It couldn’t have been him.” 

Sugawara felt the collar of his jacket get tighter against his throat with each name they recited, ever closer to the correct answer. Images began to assault the setter’s mind, flashbacks from the night of the shooting. Sugawara did his best to swallow them again, but it was of little use. His breathing sped up as his heart raced. Trying to distract himself from the encroaching panic attack, he stood from the floor and began checking some higher shelves. 

“Who are we missing, then? There are four first years on the volleyball team, right?” the boy questioned, mild frustration evident in his voice. 

“I’m not sure…” the girl’s voice trailed off as she recounted the team members in her mind. After a couple seconds, she snapped her eyes open, suddenly sitting up on her box. “Oh! What about that blond kid - The really tall one with the glasses? What was his name again?” The boy turned to look at her. 

“Oh yeah, Tsukishima! You know, I haven’t seen him around school since the shooting. It’s got to be him!” 

At the sound of Tsukishima’s name, Sugawara lost his composure. He fell to the floor as his vision blackened for a moment, nearly losing consciousness as panicked thoughts swarmed his head like an invasion of angry wasps. 

_T-Tsukishima was… T-Tsukishima was…_

He tried to rein himself in, but the effort was futile. Even the mere mention of Tsukishima’s name sent the third year spiralling into hysterics. 

_Tsukishima almost died! I didn’t stop it… I couldn’t stop it… His brother killed himself because of me! His life can never be the same and it’s all my fault!_

Just then the first-year pair who had been in the room with him turned at the sound of him hitting the floor, as if noticing his presence for the first time. 

“Hey, man, are you okay?” the boy asked, a look of mild concern spreading across his face. The girl stood from her box and took a step in Sugawara’s direction. 

“Do you need the nurse? I can go get her, if you want.” 

But Sugawara barely heard them. On instinct, he turned in their direction, completely oblivious to the quiver of his lip or the red blotches around his eyes. Surprise blossomed on the girl’s face. 

“Hey, aren’t you - ”

Sugawara never let her finish. Unable to bear it anymore, he sprinted haphazardly from the supply room, down the hall, and into the boys’ bathroom, where he sat the rest of the lunch period.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all. Here's the next chapter of The Darkest Hour. As always, thank you all for reading! Please leave a review if you're so inclined, and I appreciate any and all constructive criticism. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Daichi Sawamura crossed the courtyard from the school to the boys’ gym, the freezing rain cutting through his uniform as he cursed his luck for forgetting his umbrella at home. He figured it wouldn’t matter at first, since the morning weatherman said the rain was supposed to stop around lunch time, but as the day wore on, Daichi quickly found out that forcast had been wrong. The rain only seemed to get worse, a fact he confirmed when he overheard the captain of the boys’ soccer team complain during their free period that their practice field had been washed out. 

_At least volleyball’s an indoor sport. I don’t think Hinata or Kageyama would forgive me if we ever had to cancel because of the weather._

That’s when he remembered.

_Kageyama._

With all his musing today, he’d almost forgotten about all the trouble the first year had caused recently. Over the last week and a half since Tsukishima’s injury, Kageyama had only become more difficult to handle. His temper flared at the slightest inconvenience, he was much harder on both himself and the spikers than ever before, and Ukai often had to stop practice to make Kageyama do push ups just so he would exhaust himself into calming down. It had become such a problem that they could scarcely get through half a practice game before it was time to go home. 

With their temperamental first year as uncontrollable as ever, the rest of the team had suddenly found themselves without their guiding pillar. With no reliable setter to coordinate the offense, the spikers fell out of line, each becoming increasingly frustrated the more often he missed. Tanaka resorted to yelling to let out his frustration, Asahi balled his fists and shook until he was ready to cry, and even Hinata went silent on occasion - and that was in addition to their failing defense, since the only player trained to read and time their opponent’s spikes was in the hospital. 

“We can’t go on like this…” Daichi muttered as he reached the club room, taking the cool metal handle into his fist and pulling open the door. To his surprise, he found Tanaka standing in the room alone, already wearing his gym shorts and in the middle of unbuttoning his uniform shirt. 

“Oh. Hey, Tanaka.” he greeted, “You’re here early.” Tanaka looked away, trying to prevent a slew of emotions from spreading across his face. 

“Yeah, well… We haven’t been playing well lately… so I thought I’d get some extra practice in.” Daichi smiled, relieved. If anyone could bring the team back from the brink, it was their mental MVP. 

Daichi took a hard look at his younger teammate, noticing for the first time the kind of change that had taken place in Tanaka since the shooting. The lines in his face seemed harsher. He somehow looked both weary and completely wired at the same time. As the second year shrugged off his dress shirt, Daichi noticed how tense the muscles in his back seemed, like a tiger ready to pounce. Tanaka usually carried himself with a relaxation and ease that completely belied his manic energy, but now he just seemed anxious. 

“By the way, “ Tanaka said, turning back to Daichi and snapping him out of his thoughts, “Is Suga going to be here today?” 

Problem number two: Suga. Daichi had been worried about the silver-haired setter since the first day he returned to school, but he didn’t really know what to do about it. In some ways, his vice captain was a much softer person than Daichi was, but underneath that gentle exterior was a certain independence that Daichi admired. Suga cared, but he wasn’t a pushover. If he needed help, he usually asked for it, and Daichi had never seen his closest friend spin so wildly out of control before. Honestly, he felt helpless in the face of his friend’s struggle.

It seemed that Mrs. Sugawara had a similar notion, because ever since the shooting, she had started sending her son to therapy several days a week. Not that Daichi blamed her, Suga had been through a pretty terrible ordeal. Unfortunately, those days were usually weekdays after school, which meant that Suga couldn’t be at practice those days. 

“No… He won’t be. He has therapy today.” 

“Oh.” Tanaka replied, looking uncharacteristically defeated. 

The rest of the team slowly poured into the club room not long after that. Hinata arrived first as usual, a moody Kageyama sauntering in behind him. Nishinoya and Asahi arrived next, followed by Yamaguchi, and then by Ennoshita, Kinnoshita, and Narita. Kiyoko and Yachi showed up just before practice started. 

After a quick couple sprints around the gym, the team gathered around to do their daily stretches. Daichi watched his team as they loosened themselves up, although none of them seemed to put their hearts into it. Despite their usual boundless enthusiasm, Hinata and Kageyama hardly looked at each other, keeping as much distance between them as possible. Tanaka carried the same physicality he had in the club room; despite going through the motions of stretching, he still seemed as tightly wound as a jungle cat moments from the kill. Asahi’s stretches were half-hearted, looking as if he wanted to disappear into the floor, while Nishinoya looked furious. Ennoshita, Kinnoshita, and Narita simply looked down and away, refusing to make eye contact with even each other. Yamaguchi just looked lonely. 

“Okay, guys!” Daichi shouted a little louder than usual. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded hollow. “Let’s start the spiking drills. We don’t have Suga today, so Nishinoya, I’d like you to set with Kageyama in his place. It’ll give you a good chance to practice your libero’s toss.” 

Nishinoya nodded, but it felt empty. 

“Alright, let’s make two lines. Coach should be here soon. Let’s show him we’re working hard.” 

As much as the captain tried to sound passionate, the truth was that he was having just as hard of a time putting his heart into the game as everyone else. Yamaguchi had mentioned in the team group chat yesterday that Tsukishima was finally coming home from the hospital, but hadn’t said much else about the blocker’s condition. It made him (and probably the rest of the team) wonder how he was healing. Could he walk? Dress himself? Was he in pain? How much could he do before he had to rest? Yamaguchi hadn’t been very forthcoming with information, and Daichi had a feeling that there were more than a few players on the team hoping to see Tsukishima at practice today, even if he wouldn’t have been able to play. It was disappointing, to say the least, and probably contributed to the team’s current doom and gloom. 

Pondering these feelings, Daichi forced them into the back of his mind as he instead wondered what was holding up their coach. 

* * *

As it happened, Ukai was running late that day. From the moment he woke up twenty minutes after his morning alarm, the locally renowned volleyball coach found himself three steps behind his schedule all day. He was unusually busy throughout his afternoon shift at the Sakanoshita Store, with hardly enough spare time to even take a lunch break. It wasn’t until he finally clocked out and turned the store over to his mother for the rest of the evening that he realized he was ten minutes late to practice. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he muttered to himself as he unlocked his banana-yellow minivan and climbed into the driver’s seat, “Sawamura’s good at being on top of things. He’ll have everyone stretched and warmed up by the time I get there.” 

It was on his drive to the school that he received a call from Takeda. Hearing the familiar chime, Ukai swiped the little green ‘call’ square on the phone’s screen, put it on speaker, and dropped it into the cup holder at his side. 

“Sensei,” he began, “Sorry, I know I’m late. I had a busy shift at the store. I’m on my way now.” Takeda’s voice came through with a hint of surprise. 

“That’s good to know, but it’s actually not why I called.” Ukai raised his eyebrows in surprise, forgetting for a few seconds that Takeda couldn’t see his face. 

“Oh. Well, what’s up?” 

“We have a game with Ochanomizu on Friday after school.” Ukai almost swerved into traffic. 

“A game!? Sensei, it’s already Monday - You know we aren’t ready for that! We’re down a starter, for one, not to mention everyone’s still reeling from the shooting and Akiteru’s death. We haven’t found our groove again; we’re not ready for a game!” 

“I know,” Takeda was saying as Ukai pulled up to an intersection stop sign. He looked around quickly for oncoming cars before he continued. “But we’re cornered here. If I decline, it’ll look suspicious for the Miyagi Prefecture’s National team to turn down a practice match, and every school in the area will find out that something’s wrong.” Ukai sighed. He couldn’t argue with Takeda’s logic. 

“Besides,” the teacher continued, “They were very insistent. They made it impossible for me to decline without being rude.” 

Ukai lifted a hand from the steering wheel and pinched the bridge of his nose. The last thing the team needed right now was to add unwanted publicity to their daily juggle of emotions, social lives, and volleyball practice. Takeda had been giving him periodic updates on the kinds of problems those boys were facing at school. Despite the news article’s intentional ambiguity about the victim’s identity, the coach knew it would only be a matter of time before people started to put two and two together and realize it equalled four. Students who missed a week or more of school at a time were few and far between. Eventually someone would notice Tsukishima hadn’t been in class since that article hit the news, and if Takeda’s suspicions were correct, certain students already had. It took everything the team had in them not to lose their composure and make things worse. 

“Yeah… I get it. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll tell them when I get to practice.” Ukai hung up the phone wondering how on earth he would prepare a team of broken teens for the most emotionally demanding game of their high school careers. 

* * *

When Ukai finally arrived at the boy’s gymnasium, Takeda was already sitting in a spare folding chair waiting for him, and Daichi had just begun to lead the team through their spiking drills. The room’s tension was thick enough to choke a cat, though that had stopped surprising the coach. Tense practices had become the norm since the shooting. Ukai, with his gym bag slung over his shoulder and his whistle around his neck, quickly switched from his outside shoes to his gym shoes and blew his whistle to start practice.

“Okay!” He shouted, adding a clap to get everyone’s attention. The team stopped in their tracks. “Sorry I’m late. Before we get started, I have some news to share with you all.” The Karasuno boys left the court one by one and sat in a crude half-circle around their coach. 

“I was just on the phone with Sensei on my way here,” Ukai began, glancing at Takeda as he spoke, “He was able to get a practice game with Ochanomizu scheduled for you guys Friday after school.” 

“But, Coach,” Daichi interjected, “That’s this week. Isn’t that a little… soon? Do you really think we’re ready?” 

As much as Ukai understood where the captain was coming from, as much as he even agreed with him, there was no way to avoid the practice match now, unless his team let him call and explain the situation to the other school, which was hardly a likely option given his players’ usual convictions. He could see the uncertainty and fear all over the young man’s face, and as much as it pained him to force them into a game without any preparation, he didn’t have an easy choice. The best he could do now was to make it a learning experience. 

“Yes, I do,” he lied. He took a deep breath and sat down on the folding chair Takeda had set out for him. Letting his elbows rest on his knees, he glanced back up at his team.

“Look,” the coach continued as he examined each of their faces, “What you all went through was painful and traumatizing, and I’m not going to make it seem like this is something you can just brush aside and deal with, but the fact of the matter is that we have Nationals coming up in less than two months.”

A wave of shock rippled through the team as they all simultaneously realized that what Ukai said was true. Their cohesiveness during the game with Shiratorizawa seemed like a faded memory to most of them now. The idea that they had to not only be back at that level, but above it came like a splash of cold water. It was Takeda’s turn to chime in.

“You might not feel like it’s possible right now, but that’s the nature of the kind of sadness you’re experiencing. It pushes you down, makes you feel powerless. You need to understand that you’re _not_ powerless.” 

The teacher stood from his chair and clenched his fist in a show of pride. 

“Tsukishima is alive. He pulled through. He’s going to be okay. And while it seems like the rest of the school doesn’t understand you now, it won’t be that way for long. You are no longer the un-flying crows! You are Karasuno! Show Ochanomizu what you’re made of!” 

The Karasuno Volleyball Team’s faces seemed to change as their advisor’s words set in - their expressions set, eyes hardened in determination. They needed to get their act together, and they were running out of time. Tsukishima’s tragedy had thrown a huge wrench in their rhythm, and if they wanted to achieve what they set out to do, then they needed to get over it and be a team again. There was no other way. 

His motivation renewed, Daichi jumped from his seated position on the floor of the gym and turned to face his team. 

“Guys, Coach and Takeda-sensei are right. This may have shaken us, but it won’t keep us down. We are Karasuno. We survived a training camp with the strongest teams in Kanto. We lost our coach and our reputation with other schools and still fought our way to Nationals. We can do this!” 

Daichi watched as the faintest glimmer of hope sparkled in his teammates’ eyes as they each considered the truth in what he’d said. Hinata lit up like a Christmas tree, Tanaka and Nishinoya stood up and gave each other a high five, hollering encouragements in the process. Ennoshita, Kinnoshita, and Narita brightened a bit as they began to believe in themselves again. Even Kageyama looked a little less tense. He was glad to see the team regain some of their hope, even though he knew everything wouldn’t go back to normal immediately. After over a week of being at a dead standstill, they had finally taken a step in the right direction. 

As if on cue, Ennoshita spoke up before the rest of the team’s noise could get out of hand. 

“Not to rain on everyone’s parade, but there’s still no guarantee Tsukishima will be healed enough to play by the time Nationals rolls around. And even if his doctor does clear him, he’ll be out of practice.” 

“Yeah, that’s possible,” Nishinoya cut in, “But we can’t think like that. Tsukishima’s a jerk, but he’s our teammate. School’s been hard enough; we can’t lose hope in him, too.” 

“Nishinoya’s right,” Daichi said, “I know how hard it’s been for us to believe in ourselves lately, but we can’t afford to lose faith in Tsukishima. If we can trust each other on the court, then it’s just as important to trust each other outside of it.” 

Daichi knew it would take more than one practice pep talk to turn his team’s spirits around completely, but after over a week of nothing but lackluster practices, the captain figured any progress at all was better than continuing as they were. Besides, if they could perform better at practice, then that confidence would spill over into their school lives, too. 

Suddenly, Kageyama chimed in as if reading Daichi’s mind. 

“So we’re supposed to just deal with this!?” the first year shouted, shattering the hopeful aura surrounding the team. He turned his fury toward Daichi. “School’s a nightmare! Have you heard what they’re saying? It’s not a secret anymore that Tsukishima was shot that night at the Family Mart - It’s all anyone wants to talk about!” 

Fed up with Kageyama’s yelling, Nishinoya decided he couldn’t let his teammate’s rotten attitude slide anymore. He stood and bounded toward Kageyama until he was mere inches from the setter, close enough that Kageyama could feel the second year’s breath on his face. 

“Do you really think we don’t know that already!? You aren’t the only one fed up with this, Kageyama, so stop acting like the rest of us don’t care!” 

Before Daichi could interrupt the fight, Ukai beat him to the punch. 

“That’s enough!” the coach shouted, his booming voice silencing the gym. He was standing in front of them now, his commanding presence dwarfing even the tallest players. “We’re here to hone our volleyball skill, not argue over high school gossip. Remember that despite all the garbage going on here, you all love volleyball for a reason. Now, spiking practice. Get going. Any interruptions, and you’ll be doing push ups. ” 

Daichi bowed deeply, as did most of the team, not wanting to disappoint their coach any more. The frustrated expression on Hinata’s face deepened as he watched Kageyama mutter under his breath, turn on his heels, and stomp off toward the volleyball net without either a bow, or so much as a single word of apology. Yamaguchi was the last to join them, staring blankly after his team with a look of sadness on his face. 

With the exception of Kageyama, the Karasuno Boys’ Volleyball team played better than they had all week. Not only did the majority of the team seem to be a little more spirited, but that spirit led to better, faster plays. Tanaka and Hinata’s spikes had a bit more force than they had before. Asahi’s hit his serves with more confidence. With Sugawara absent and Kageyama acting up, Nishinoya got to toss more than usual, and even his libero’s tosses picked up. Daichi could tell by practicing with his team that they weren’t back to full strength yet, far from it actually, but they were the best they’d been since the shooting. 

_Well_ , he thought, _that has to count for something._

* * *

Instead of walking straight to Tsukki’s house after practice that day, as Yamaguchi had originally intended, he decided to take a quick detour. Feeling the weight of his soft green duffel bag on his shoulder as he walked out of the gym and into the open air, Yamaguchi couldn’t help but miss the matching red bag that was usually at his side. Although Tsukki wasn’t beside him with his usual red bag, the pinch server did carry a second bag - one of Yamaguchi’s old backpacks - that contained his best friend’s homework from that day. He’d stopped by Tsukki’s homeroom to grab it, something that had become part of his daily routine over the last week and a half. 

Practices had gotten a lot lonelier without Tsukki there to laugh with him. It wasn’t that Yamaguchi didn’t get along with the rest of his team - they were at least friends on a casual basis - but nobody on that court would ever know him like Tsukki did. He and his best friend had been glued at the hip for so long, he’d almost forgotten what absolute, crushing loneliness felt like.

As a rough stormy wind swept through his thick brown hair, catching and whipping the small unruly tuft at the top of his head, Yamaguchi took a couple seconds to consider the implications of today’s practice. Sure, Kageyama was still acting up, and that disappointed Hinata a bit, but overall the team was healing. They had their time to feel their emotions, but circumstance required them to start putting themselves back together. 

_Still_ , Yamaguchi wondered, remembering the team’s uncertainty about the sarcastic middle blocker’s healing injuries, _It would probably help them a lot more if Tsukki could come to show them he was getting better. Maybe even Kageyama would stop being so angry._

That was when Yamaguchi had an idea. Sure, Tsukki couldn’t come to school, and he couldn’t practice with everyone, but nobody said anything about coming just to watch. He’d probably have to do some convincing to get his friend to agree to it; Tsukki was still in pain, grieving his brother, and generally in a bad mood altogether, but Yamaguchi felt it might even help Tsukki, too, since he wouldn’t be stuck in his house all day. 

Yamaguchi made a decision. Instead of going straight to Tsukki’s place to give him his homework, he would stop somewhere else first, somewhere he could grab a little something to ensure his best friend would listen to what he had to say. 

Before Yamaguchi could let the doors close behind him, he heard his captain call his name from the gym. 

“Yamaguchi,” Daichi called, “Are you leaving?” The first year turned around to face his captain, seeing Asahi standing with him as the pair tossed the last of the volleyballs into the wire rack. Yamaguchi, suddenly growing shy, brought his free hand to the back of his head, awkwardly scratching an itch he didn’t realize he had. 

“Uh, yeah,” he lied, “I’ve got a lot of homework tonight, so I wanna get started early.” Asahi produced a weak, but genuine smile, as Daichi gave him a look that bore a hole right through him. Winking, the captain called him out on his lie. 

“Tell Tsukishima practice just isn’t as interesting without him, okay?” Putting on the first real smile he could muster in what felt like years, Yamaguchi waved goodbye to Daichi and Asahi as he felt the warmth of his team’s friendship pierce the sadness that had engulfed him so completely. 

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Yamaguchi released the door, letting it creak closed behind him. “Bye, guys.” 

“See you tomorrow, Yamaguchi.”

With that, Yamaguchi left the school grounds, on his way to see his best friend.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Here's another installment of The Darkest Hour. I'm sorry this story has taken so much longer than Lunar Eclipse, but I'm so grateful you all have decided to stick with it. Thank you so much, and you're all awesome!
> 
> That being said, I'm always looking to get better. So leave a kudos if you'd like, and if you have any criticisms for me, feel free to leave a comment as well. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“That one please, ma’am - the strawberry.” 

The elderly woman behind the counter of the local bakery nodded as she reached into the glass case with a plastic-gloved hand and pulled out the last single serving of strawberry shortcake. Roughly the circumference of a baseball and about as tall, it was a soft yellow angel food cake with a generous helping of whipped cream on top as a single whole strawberry adorned its peak. As simple as it was, it had been Tsukki’s favorite treat from this bakery for as long as they’d known each other. 

Placing the cake gently inside the small cardboard box, the older woman gave Yamaguchi her best customer service smile. 

“Will that be all today, dear?” 

“Yep, that’s all.” She closed the wax paper-lined box, taping it shut to keep the cake safe from the elements. 

“Your total is $2.56.” 

Yamaguchi pulled his wallet out of his bag as another employee swept the floor behind him. He handed the cashier a few small bills, and she opened the register to make change, handing him a few coins in return. 

“Forty-four cents is your change. Have a nice day, dear.” 

Putting his change back in his wallet and his wallet back in his bag, Yamaguchi gingerly picked up the cake box from the counter and made his way toward the front door.

“You, too,” He replied as he pushed open the bakery door with a jingle. Once again, Yamaguchi found himself standing on the busy sidewalk of Torono’s main street. 

_This has always been Tsukki’s favorite bakery_ , Yamaguchi recalled as he walked back to the bus stop in the early evening sunlight. The day’s rain had finally slowed to a stop, leaving patches of moisture all over the ground. As he watched cars pass on the busy street beside him, and young couples and children stroll past him on the sidewalk, Yamaguchi reminisced on all his favorite childhood memories of the bakery. It was only a few weeks after he’d become friends with Tsukki that the blocker had asked him to come to the bakery with him for the first time. 

_“Hey, my mom just gave me my allowance for the month. Wanna come with me to the bakery on Main Street?” Yamaguchi’s eyes widened into a frightened stare._

_“Main Street? That’s so far away! A-Are you sure we’re allowed?” Tsukishima laughed with a big, toothy grin._

_“Of course we’re allowed! I just got my bus pass last month. That means I’m allowed to go wherever I want now. Besides, Main Street is just the next stop over. It’s not that far.”_

To think that a young Yamaguchi had been afraid to go even as close as Main Street by himself surprised him. He’d been a shy, sheltered child such a short time ago. Having the courage to stand up to his best friend as he did was a new feeling of which he was proud. As he reached the nearly-empty bus stop, pausing to sit on the bench under the awning, Yamaguchi fiddled with the tape on the cake box, the fond memory pressing on the edges of his mind like a warm blanket. 

_When the pair reached their stop, Yamaguchi stepped off the bus and stared, mouth agape, at the storefront only a few feet in front of him. It was a quaint little shop, kept in business only by its location in the middle of town. The front of the building was a painted white brick with a bright red and white striped awning that reached out over the sidewalk. A large window stretched across the length of the front of the building, with the words ‘Patty Cakes, open daily 8am - 6pm’ printed across it in peeling white lettering. Yamaguchi could see the employees through the window, watching with childlike wonder as they cleaned the counters and restocked the enormous glass case. Before he was aware of it, Tsukishima had stepped off the bus after him._

_“What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”_

The sound of the bus’s brakes screeching at Yamaguchi’s stop shook the first year out of his reverie. He stood from his seat on the bench and climbed the stairs leading into the bus. Letting the driver swipe his pass, Yamaguchi quickly put it back into his wallet as he took an empty window seat near the front. He set both bags and the cake box down beside him in an effort to discourage any strangers from taking the seat instead, and watched the handful of others at the stop file onto the bus after him. After several minutes, the driver eased off the brakes and pulled out of the stop. 

_Tsukishima pulled open the bakery’s front door and went inside, Yamaguchi following timidly behind him. Bakeries had never been places his family visited often, especially since Yamaguchi’s dad seemed to have a vendetta against sugar. However, seeing all the wonderful treats that lined the glass display case at Patty Cakes made him wish it were otherwise. Yamaguchi watched as his best friend’s eyes darted around the case, finally settling on the object of his desire: the strawberry shortcake. He pointed to it, pristine on the top shelf._

_“That one, please.”_

_“You mean the shortcake?” the cashier asked. Tsukishima nodded. The cashier slid a pair of plastic gloves neatly over her hands as she took a shortcake from its place and wrapped it in a cardboard box._

_“Is that one your favorite?” Yamaguchi asked as the cashier packaged Tsukishima’s cake._

_“Yep,” he responded, “I go here with my brother all the time. Sometimes he teases me for always getting the strawberry shortcake, but I don’t care because shortcake is awesome.”_

_Yamaguchi nodded, his sheepishness getting the best of him, and let his eyes wander around to the other pastries in the store. Tsukishima spoke up during the silence._

_“Hey, do you want something?” Yamaguchi snapped his head back toward his friend._

_“Huh?”_

_“I said, do you want something?” Yamaguchi began to play with the straps of his backpack._

_“Oh, I mean…”_

_“It’s okay if you do. What do you like?” Yamaguchi looked around the display case some more, eventually pointing to a piece of cheesecake that had some sort of chocolate drizzle on it. Tsukishima turned back to the counter, calling after the cashier, who had begun tending to something else._

_“Miss? My friend will have this one here.” She smiled and took the cake from the case, wrapping it in its own cardboard box._

_“That’s it.”_

_“Your total is $6.00 even.”_

_“H-hey,” Yamaguchi said as Tsukishima pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket, “Thanks. You’re a nice guy, Tsukki.”_

_Tsukishima’s nose crumpled, his eyebrows knitted together into a face Yamaguchi recognized as one his new friend only made when something (or someone) annoyed him. His cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment._

_“I’m not nice!” he countered, his nostrils flaring, “Nice is lame. I’m just being polite.” He paused, looked away, and pouted. “ My brother said if I wasn’t I wouldn’t make any friends.” Taken aback by Tsukishima’s annoyance, Yamaguchi laughed._

_“Shut up, Yamaguchi!”_

_“Sorry, Tsukki.”_

It wasn’t long before the bus reached its destination.

“Maruetsu Grocery! Last call for Maruetsu Grocery!” 

Hearing the name of his stop, Yamaguchi threw both bags over his shoulder, took the cake box into his hands, and walked to the front of the bus. Thanking the bus driver, he finished descending the stairs as the doors slammed closed behind him. 

As Yamaguchi walked the short distance to Tsukki’s house, the sun's yellow/orange glow flickered between the treetops above Yamaguchi’s head, casting shadows from the damp leaves that blended together in one big amalgamation of darkness at his feet. He wondered if his best friend was still angry from yesterday. He hoped that wasn’t the case; it would make the conversation he was about to have much harder than it needed to be. 

_Who knows what’s going on with Tsukki anymore_ , the teen mused as he trekked under the dim light of the evening. He cast his thoughts back to the memory of his first time at the bakery. Tsukki had always been sarcastic and evasive, especially when it came to talking about himself, but back then, he still seemed… good-natured. Even when they first joined Karasuno’s volleyball team, Tsukki teased the others, but there was always a smirk underneath the stinging remark. He never acted the way he did simply to be mean; he did it because it was fun for him, and later because it was funny to Yamaguchi. 

_It may not seem as obvious to the others_ , Yamaguchi thought, _but no matter how annoyed Tsukki gets, he’s never outright hateful_. But the way that his best friend glared at him during that fight in the hospital, it wasn’t annoyance, or even anger behind his eyes. It was hate. Though, as frightening as that hate was, Yamaguchi wasn’t entirely convinced it was directed at him. If there was anything at all that the shy first-year had faith in, it was his friendship with Tsukki. 

_If he doesn’t hate me, then who does he hate?_ Akiteru, for submitting to his weakness and taking his own life, despite the seemingly obvious accident? The shooter, for crippling him at the most crucial point of his high school volleyball career? Both? 

And then another thought occurred to the pinch server. 

_What if Tsukki hates himself?_

Several minutes later, Yamaguchi found himself standing at the Tsukishimas’ doorstep. A quick peek in the driveway told him both his friend’s parents were home, so it was a crapshoot who would open the door when he knocked. Logic told him it probably wouldn’t be Tsukki, given that he still had a hard time standing and walking on his own for long periods of time. Yamaguchi was a little nervous about dealing with Tsukki’s parents, given how on edge they seemed whenever he’d visited Tsukki in the hospital, but he figured it would be alright. He was their son’s closest friend. What were they going to do, turn him away? 

Yamaguchi reached for the door knocker with his free hand and, picking it up, let it fall against the solid wood of the door a few times to announce his presence. He waited for several moments, hearing a faint shuffling that sounded like it was coming from the living room just beyond the entranceway. After what seemed like forever, Yamaguchi heard the latch click open. 

“Hello? Oh. Yamaguchi.” 

To the pinch server’s surprise, Tsukishima himself stood in the doorway in front of him. He was paler than Yamaguchi was used to, and a slight sheen from a mild sweat stood out on his forehead. Dressed in what barely passed for day clothes and leaning heavily against the doorframe, Tsukishima firmly clutched his injured side. As Yamaguchi gave his friend a quick glance-over, he noticed the neutral expression that donned the blocker’s face was obviously forced, probably to keep his pain from being evident. Too bad Yamaguchi knew him better than the back of his hand. 

“Tsukki, you’re still hurt! Should you be standing? Where are your parents?” Tsukishima audibly sighed as he closed his eyes for a brief second, forcing the annoyance from his face. As soon as he did, Yamaguchi’s face filled with regret. 

“My mom is sleeping upstairs and my dad is in his study working. Neither of them heard you knock. What do you want?” 

Yamaguchi knew Tsukki was never one to get emotional like a certain orange-haired spiker on their volleyball team, but even he had never heard Tsukki sound so deadpan. He wasn’t bored or tired like usual. Instead, Yamaguchi realized, it sounded much more like he was consciously purging the emotion from his voice. Was he just hiding his pain? Or was it something more? 

“I just... came to talk to you about the team.” 

“Why would I want to hear about the team?” 

Yamaguchi realized volleyball was probably the last thing Tsukki wanted to hear about, but he was afraid that if he didn’t tell Tsukki what he needed, the team would never win on Friday. 

“Because you weren’t at practice today, and it’s important. Please. Can I come in?” For the first time, Tsukishima seemed to notice the cake box in Yamaguchi’s hand. 

“What’s that?” he asked as he glanced quickly down at the box. Yamaguchi smiled. He knew stopping for the shortcake was a good decision. 

“It’s strawberry shortcake from that bakery you like over on Main Street. I brought it in case you shut me down.” Showing his first emotion the entire conversation thus far, Tsukishima’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and his mouth curved into a small smirk. 

“You brought it to bribe me?” Catching the smile, Yamaguchi returned the favor. 

“Did it work?” 

Yamaguchi knew that unlike most of their teammates, food was almost never first on Tsukki’s mind. He’d been a picky eater as long as Yamaguchi had known him, and offering him a dozen pork bowls or yogurt drinks wasn’t going to do anything to sway his mind like it would the freak duo. However, if one knew exactly what he liked, that person could convince Tsukki to do whatever they wanted - within reason.

Tsukishima slowly and painfully shifted his weight from the doorframe and back onto his own two feet. Wincing as he did so, he turned and limped back to the living room. 

“Yep.” Laughing, Yamaguchi followed him into the house. 

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.” 

“Sorry, Tsukki.” 

* * *

“Kei, who was at the door?” 

Tsukishima turned around toward the staircase just in time to see his mother yawn as she sauntered down from the second floor. Tsukishima sat on the couch in the living room with Yamaguchi at his side and the cake box on the coffee table in front of them. The lamp on the side table by Tsukishima’s side of the couch was lit, illuminating the otherwise dark room. 

“It was just Yamaguchi.” Tsukishima called back.

“Hello, Mrs. Tsukishima,” Yamaguchi turned around as well. “Sorry to intrude.” Amaya’s face erupted into a wide, gentle grin. 

“Tadashi, honey, don’t worry about it; you’re always welcome here. I’m about to start dinner. Would you like to eat with us?” 

“Yes, please. Thank-you, ma’am.” 

Amaya crossed into the living room and rounded the corner of the couch just in time to see Tsukishima take the cake from the table and sneakily open the box. 

“Kei!” she shouted, nearly causing him to drop it in surprise, “I’m making dinner! Put that in the fridge; you can have it after.” Squashing a pout, Tsukishima snuck off to put the shortcake in the fridge. When he returned to his spot on the couch, he decided it was probably time to find out what had happened at practice that was so important that Yamaguchi bought him a shortcake and bribed his way into his house. 

“Yamaguchi,” he began, angling himself to look at his friend, “So what is it about practice you wanted to talk to me about?” 

Yamaguchi looked away, suddenly nervous, and decided to focus on the intricate designs in the glass coasters on the coffee table instead. He knew there would be no easy way to have this conversation. Tsukki was stubborn, more so than the blocker would ever admit. Talking to him about anything he didn’t want to hear about was going to be a challenge. _And I already used the shortcake bribe, too._

“Well,” he started, obviously unsure of himself, “Takeda-sensei told us today that we have a game with Ochanomizu on Friday.” 

“So?” Tsukishima asked, shrugging, “Ochanomizu’s a good school, but they shouldn’t be a problem compared to Shiratorizawa.” Yamaguchi’s face switched from nervous from sad. He began to play with a loose string on his t-shirt to distract himself. 

“Tsukki… You don’t know. You haven’t seen the team since… since it happened.” Yamaguchi blinked away tears before his friend could notice them. “They’re… they’re broken. They haven’t been the same since you were hurt. Everyone’s depressed. Suga’s been skipping practices for therapy. Kageyama’s acting worse than when he first joined the team. Daichi and coach can’t keep everyone in line anymore. We aren’t getting anything done in practice, and nobody’s in sync!” 

Tsukishima’s expression shifted from curious to annoyed. Why should he care how the team was feeling right now? Why would Yamaguchi take all this time just to tell him that everyone was upset? 

“Why do I care? I have my own problems, and they have theirs. What does this have to do with me? I can’t play, anyway.” Yamaguchi snapped his gaze back to his best friend. 

“Because you’re the reason they’re suffering like this! Tsukki, you almost died. They’re scared. They want to know you’re okay.” Tsukishima’s eyes went wide in anger. He leaned forward involuntarily as he gradually lost control of his temper. 

“Then why don’t you tell them!? Why does everyone keep trying to remind me I almost died? I know! I was there!” 

Yamaguchi leaned forward on the couch to match him, his hands gripping the soft fabric until his knuckles turned white with the strain. 

“Because the only way they’ll listen is if you show them yourself.” The pinch server sighed, hung his head, and remained quiet for several seconds. If Tsukishima listened closely, he could hear what sounded like soft, but ragged intakes of breath, accompanied by a slight shiver of Yamaguchi’s shoulders. 

_Is he… crying?_

“I keep trying to tell you,” Yamaguchi whimpered. As he stared fixedly at the dark color of the couch, the faint lines in the fabric blurring behind his tears, Yamaguchi noticed the smell of warm sizzling beef waft in from the kitchen, where Tsukki’s mom was dutifully preparing dinner. He suddenly realized how hungry he was, remembering that he hadn’t eaten since lunch at school that day. Aside from making him hungry, the scent also reminded him of what he guessed home was supposed to smell like: a fresh-cooked meal. It seemed ironic to him that he would have such a difficult conversation in such a comforting place. 

“I keep trying to tell you… We remind you because we care - because you scared us.” Yamaguchi took a breath, struggling to keep his voice through the tears and wracking sobs that threatened to tear him to pieces. 

“Tsukki, you don’t realize the magnitude of what happened to you. You keep playing it off like it was a twisted ankle, but the reality of it is that we all could have lost you that night. Your parents could have lost you.” Yamaguchi paused and let out a strangled, heart wrenching sob. 

“Tsukki, I could have lost you.” 

Yamaguchi’s tears were almost too much for him to bear now; he tried to look up at his best friend, but found he couldn’t see his face through the salt-tinged streams. He paused to wipe his eyes, his sobbing turned to uncontrollable hiccups. 

Tsukishima looked his best friend in the eye and realized the teen was being the most honest he’d been since their fight at the Tokyo training camp, maybe even more so. Yamaguchi had always been prone to emotion; he was naturally more sensitive than most of the others on the team, but even at his lowest points, Tsukishima had never seen Yamaguchi break down so completely. 

“Tsukki, you weren’t at the gym the night of the shooting. You didn’t see the look on Sugawara’s face as he told us you were injured. When he told the team what had happened to you, that there was such a slim chance you would even survive, you didn’t see the horrified looks on everyone’s faces as they realized practice that night could have been the last time they’d ever see you alive. They were _scared_ , Tsukki. We all were. Why can’t you see that?” 

Tsukishima did nothing to stop the unbridled fury that built inside him, the raging fire that burned at the bottom of his stomach. Why did Yamaguchi have to make this so difficult? He didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted some peace of mind. Why couldn’t the frustrating little pinch server see that? 

“What makes you think I can’t? What makes you think I don’t know what you all went through? I have to sit here and watch my parents blubber over Akiteru every damn day.” Tsukishima pointed to the staircase. “His bedroom sits up there untouched since the day he left it, and every time my mom even passes by the door she starts crying. On top of that, I’m stuck in a body that can’t do anything for itself. I can’t even play volleyball to get away from it all. With all that garbage in my life day in and day out, can you blame me if I just don’t want to deal with this right now?” 

As Yamaguchi listened to his best friend’s plight, his chest tightened, twisting itself into countless knots and tangles. Contrary to what Tsukki might be thinking, Yamaguchi wasn’t crying because he was desperate to be heard, though that was also true. He was crying because he knew his friend had all these emotions bottled up inside him. From the first day Yamaguchi visited him at the hospital without the team, he knew Tsukishima was struggling with more than just the physical pain of his injuries - it was written all over his face, throughout all his mannerisms. He was trying to make sense of the countless emotions that kept cropping up after the incident: Grief, pain, trauma, and more. Yamaguchi knew from the delicate purple bruises that hung under his friend’s eyes that Tsukki wasn’t sleeping, assaulted night after night with nightmares of the shooting, his brother’s death, or both. He could tell from the way he stiffened around his parents that Tsukki’s relationship with them was rocky at best, strained considerably by the tragedy that changed all of their lives. He knew Tsukki was hurting, far more than Yamaguchi had ever seen before. 

But he couldn’t understand why Tsukki wouldn’t let Yamaguchi help him. Nothing would ever get better until the middle blocker sat down, took a look inside himself, and dealt with what he was feeling. Why couldn’t he see that? 

Calming himself down, Yamaguchi relaxed his grip on the couch, letting his shoulders slump and his head hang between his arms like a ragdoll. After a few moments, he sat back on the couch, tipped his head back, and steepled his hands over his mouth. When he finally spoke his voice was quiet. 

“Tsukki, you will never get past this if you don’t take the time to set it right within yourself. It will never get better if you don’t deal with it. And the longer you wait, the worse it will get.” 

Yamaguchi could feel the heat of Tsukishima’s angry gaze bore into him like a high-powered drill. For a moment, the teen thought his best friend would snap at him, but instead he calmed down. Tsukishima took a deep breath - inhaling, exhaling - steadying himself. 

“What do you want from me?” 

Finally, the real question. With more confidence than he thought possible, Yamaguchi sat up on the couch, turned to his friend, and said what he needed to say. 

“I want you to come to practice.” 

“What? Yamaguchi, you know I can’t do that.” 

“I know you can’t play. I’m just asking you to come and sit in on the sidelines. You don’t even have to pay attention. But if the rest of the team can see for themselves that you’re healing, then maybe it would give them hope. And maybe… maybe it would help you too.” 

Yamaguchi watched as Tsukishima looked away, as if he were pondering the notion of actually going to a volleyball practice for no other reason than for moral support. Though the rage was gone, Yamaguchi could see the gears of frustration still turning in his friend’s mind. _Well, he didn’t immediately tell me no_ , he figured, _that’s a start._

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima began, his voice thready and strained. The blocker closed his eyes as he clenched his fists, afraid to meet his teammate’s gaze. “I think you should leave.” 

Yamaguchi panicked. _This isn’t how it was supposed to go!_

“Tsukki, what are you talking about?” 

“I said leave, Yamaguchi,” his voice ringing with a desperate finality, “Go home. Leave me alone.” 

Starting to cry once again, Yamaguchi picked his things from the floor and nearly ran to the front door, trying to at least hold back until he was out of the house. 

“Fine,” he whimpered, his voice cracking, “Enjoy the shortcake.” 

As Yamaguchi ran from the house, letting the door close behind him, he heard a choked sob from a female voice follow him over the threshold. 

It came from the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, I know it's been forever, but I promise this story isn't dead! I've been working really hard on the course I want the story to take, and I now have a much better understanding of where I want to go with this. I really want this to be even better than Lunar Eclipse, because you guys deserve a great story. So I'm sorry it's been so long, but I'm back! Yay!
> 
> P.S. Writer's block is the worst.
> 
> So anyway, please enjoy chapter five ^_^

_“Mr. and Mrs. Tsukishima, I apologize for the late hour, but I’d like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak with you.”_

_Amaya and Yoshirou sat impatiently around the dimly lit kitchen table. Two police officers and a firm-looking business woman sat with them, all waiting for the impromptu meeting to begin. The air in the room was thick with tension, so much so that Amaya could feel herself choking on all the unspoken words floating in the air around her. After the hours she’d spent waiting within the soul-sucking walls of the hospital, wondering if Akiteru would die, wondering if Kei would join him, wondering where she’d go from here - after dragging herself through all the conversations with the doctors and the police officers and the family friends, after the week following the funeral that seemed like a year - what more could these people have to say to her?_

_It was just after nine o’clock at night on a Sunday, and, despite the fact that the meeting hadn’t even started, the exhausted mother couldn’t wait for it to be over. After all, their teenage son had just gotten home from the hospital earlier that afternoon, and there was nothing Amaya wanted more than to breeze back into his bedroom like a summer storm, caress his sleeping face, and assure herself that her beautiful little boy would be okay._

_Turning her attention back to the matter at hand, Amaya took a hard look at the people in front of her. The police officers were standard issue (though she did recognize one of them as Officer Hashimoto) but the woman who had spoken was unfamiliar. She seemed to be in her mid-thirties with dark chestnut hair and piercing, ice-blue eyes. She wore a black blazer and knee-length pencil skirt, an indication that she was a professional of some sort. Amaya knew that very few professions made house calls anymore, but if the officers beside her and manilla folder in front of her were any clue, this woman had to be from a legal department._

_In that moment a million questions rose at the front of Amaya’s mind, all tripping over each other to see which could reach her lips first. Why were they here? Did something happen with the man who shot her son? Was he being convicted? Would there be a trial? Would Kei have to testify? She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out but a tangled mess of half-hearted utterances. As she tried again, she noticed that her husband had found his voice first._

_“I appreciate you doing your due diligence by coming to see us, but why are you here?”_

_Polite, but with a steel undertone, Yoshirou punctuated his syllables, adding an edge to his voice that let the woman and her cohorts know that he was not making small talk. She looked down at the manilla folder, coughed, and looked back up, shifting her gaze from Yoshirou to Amaya, and then back._

_“Let me cut to the chase, Mr. Tsukishima, and then I’ll be out of your hair. My name is Ms. Asami Morita, and I work as legal counsel for the local prefecture. I’m here because the man who shot your son pled guilty in a private court earlier today.”_

_Somewhat startled by the revelation, Amaya and Yoshirou gave each other a brief glance before facing the lawyer in front of them. Officer Hashimoto had told them a few days prior that police had apprehended the man who’d shot Kei, but his sentencing was still up in the air. Yoshirou kept his gaze firm and his face unreadable, but Amaya, needing to get all her emotions out on the table, let the words flood the room._

_“O - Okay... So, what happens now? Do you need us in court? Is that why you’re here?”_

_“No, ma’am.” She folded her hands on the table in front of her. “Because Mr. Ito pled guilty there will not be another trial. I’m here because I am required by law to keep you updated on what happens during his sentencing, and to inform you of all the information relevant to keeping your family safe.”_

_Yoshirou leaned a little further forward, folding his hands in front of him to match her._

_“Then inform us,” he said with a severe look in his eye, “What do we need to know?”_

_Nodding slightly as if to acknowledge Yoshirou’s efficiency, Ms. Morita opened the file in front of her. She picked up the small stack of papers it contained, and tapped them lightly against the table a couple times to straighten them. Letting them sit loosely in her hands, she skimmed them and began to speak._

_“Mr. Ito pled guilty to illegal possession of a firearm, attempted robbery, attempted manslaughter, and assault with a deadly weapon. The judge sentenced him to fifteen years in prison with possibility of parole, and he was taken to Sendai City Correctional Facility a few hours ago. As for - ”_

_“Hold on a minute.” Amaya interrupted, barely keeping her anger contained. Normally, she would make every effort to be polite. After all, Yoshirou had built their family’s entire facade on politeness. It was important that, when interacting with strangers, the Tsukishimas give the best impression possible. One never knew who might be watching them. Judging them._

_But not tonight. Tonight her eldest was dead. Tonight her youngest was in pain and hardly out of death’s untimely grasp. She had been dealing with the polite nonsense for the last week and a half, and she would deal with it no more. She stood from her chair so forcefully that it toppled over and clattered to the floor. In front of her, Officer Hashimoto tensed and reached for something at his hip, but stopped short._

_“You’re telling me that this man walks into a store, nearly kills my son, and all he’s getting is fifteen years? Maybe less?”_

_Yoshirou stood from his chair as well, motioned to the officer that the situation was under control, and put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. Leaning in closely, he murmured,_

_“Amaya, I understand your anger, but this is neither the time nor the place. Let these people say what they came here to say. The sooner they do that, the sooner they will leave us alone.”_

_But the exhausted mother refused to calm down. She turned on her heel, staring down the only man she’d ever loved._

_“How can you say that? That monster almost killed Kei! He would have killed Kei if Koushi and that cashier hadn’t jumped in to help.” As she spoke, Amaya’s voice began to break as tears sprung up from behind her eyes, her throat constricting, nearly suffocating her. She paused a brief moment to cover her face and blink away her tears before continuing her tirade. “It was because of what happened that night that Aki - that my little baby…”_

_Unable to speak over the grief that choked off her voice, Amaya broke down, collapsing into her husband’s arms and wailing into his chest. He clumsily wrapped his arms around her, and Amaya felt the awkward rigidity that permeated the embrace. Where was the smooth, gentlemanly suavity that usually dominated her husband’s mannerisms? She felt like she was getting a hug from an embarrassed middle schooler, not from the man she’d been married to for thirty years._

_The room’s tension thickened, as the only audible sounds were those of Amaya’s heart-wrenching sobs, and Yoshirou’s stiff silence that seemed to take on a presence of its own. Several seconds passed before Ms. Morita, stood, curled her hand over her mouth, and cleared her throat. Slowly, the grieving couple turned to look at her._

_“Mrs. Tsukishima, I understand this has been a difficult time for you, but the keyword here is ‘almost’. Mr. Ito did not actually kill anyone, nor did he steal anything. None of the money he demanded ever left the register, and your son survived the only shot fired.” Placing the papers back into the folder, Ms. Morita closed it and continued speaking. “In addition, he displayed genuine remorse for his actions, and has no prior convictions. I’m very sorry for the loss of your older son, but legally, this is the best we can do.”_

_Slowly, she lifted her briefcase onto the table, opened it, and placed the folder inside among the countless other court documents. She had just closed it and began to reach for her jacket when Yoshirou interrupted her departure._

_“Wait.” She paused, the officers who had also begun to leave pausing with her._

_“What about the media? I want to make sure we aren’t bothered again.” Ms. Morita suppressed a sigh as he continued. “Kei has enough to worry about with school, his injuries, and the death of his brother. He doesn’t need journalists coming out of the woodwork to follow every move he makes.”_

_Ms. Morita took her jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged it over her shoulders._

_“Now that the case is considered closed, all police reports related to the incident will become public record.”_

_“What does that mean?” Amaya asked. She could feel the fear, warm and uncomfortable, creep up underneath the collar of her blouse. Public record? Did that mean that anyone who wanted the information could have it? She tried to imagine reporters on the news talking about her precious little boy, showing picture after picture of the crime scene, Kei’s skin corpse white, his blood splattered all over the floor. The color drained from her face as she thought she might faint._

_“It means that any reporter who wants to do a story on the shooting will be able to visit the station’s archives and comb through the files without needing a court order to get them. However, because your son is sixteen and therefore not an adult in the eyes of the law, those reporters will still need your permission as his legal guardians to publish anything related to his identity, including his name. If they don’t, they could be open to a lawsuit.”_

_The lawyer paused and took a moment to look at the distraught parents before her. Slowly and for the first time that night, she let a small smile spread across her face._

_“Don’t worry, ma’am… sir,” She nodded to Amaya and Yoshirou in turn. “Your son is as safe as you want him to be.”_

_Untangling himself from his wife’s embrace, Yoshirou crossed the room to the archway between the kitchen and the living room, where Ms. Morita stood with the officers beside her. He took her hand into his own and gave it a solid shake, one professional person to another. Regaining her composure, Ms. Morita met his gaze with her own._

_“Thank-you for stopping by.” The businessman stuck his other hand in his pocket in an effort to give the illusion that he was at ease. He shook the hands of the two officers in turn. “Allow me to escort you to your car.”_

* * *

Amaya stood at the kitchen stove and listened to the rain thrum against the window as she thought about the previous night’s encounter with Ms. Morita. She had been debating all day whether or not to tell Kei about the implications of the public nature of his police reports, but found herself afraid of driving him further away. On one hand, it wouldn’t be right to keep him from information that centered around his own wellbeing. But then again, the boy was in pain - physically and emotionally. As the parent it was her job - hers and Yoshirou’s - to protect him from the big, bad outside world, and they’d failed enough at that job already. Kei had a lot on his mind. Adding the prospect of pesky reporters into the mix would be nothing but cruel. 

That was her thought process, at least, until Kei turned on the television and found out on his own. 

Amaya stirred the contents of the skillet in front of her and the savory fragrance of sizzling beef, peppers, carrots, water chestnuts, and various sauces and spices wafted through the air, listening silently to the argument her son was having with his best friend in the next room. Once she heard the shouting die down, followed by the slamming of the front door, she knew the argument was over, and Yamaguchi had stormed out of the house. She felt empathy for Kei’s plight spring up, warming her face and burning her eyes with the threat of tears, but, when a strangled sob escaped her lips without her permission, she quickly forced the emotion back down. Kei didn’t need her to be emotional right now. He needed her to be there for him. She turned the stove’s heat low so that the skillet’s contents wouldn’t burn and made her way into the living room where her son sat brooding. She was just in time to see him turn on the television. 

“What do you want?” 

_Well, I can’t say I expected a warm welcome_. Amaya stood in the archway between the living room and the kitchen as Kei, remote in hand, began to flip through channels. She watched him for a little while, wondering where the time went. Wasn’t it just yesterday that she’d held him in the crook of her arm, his head in her palm and his feet at her elbow, amazed at how this tiny creature would grow into a full-fledged human being? That she watched him struggle to tie his shoes for the first time, wondering what kind of man he would become? Tears once again threatened her composure, and she pushed them back behind her eyes a second time. 

“I want to know if you’re alright, honey.” 

A pause. 

“I heard your fight with Yamaguchi.” She could almost feel her son’s shoulders droop with fatigue from ten feet away. She watched rather than heard him sigh, as he sat leaning against the back of the couch, she could see his shoulders visibly slump at her words. 

“Then you know I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Kei…” Her voice trailed off as she crossed the room to sit next to him, wrapping her arm around his torso and pulling him close to her, breathing in the scent of him. She wondered when he stopped smelling like soft lavender and baby powder and started to smell like sweat and cologne - a teenager. “You’re my little boy. Let me help you.” 

In a fit of rage, the injured teen shouldered his way out of his mother’s grasp, angling himself on the couch so that he was facing her. She watched him wince as the movement pulled at his stitches. 

“You want to help me? Then why don’t you - ”

He froze, eyes darting from her to the television. Amaya followed his gaze and saw what had stopped her son so suddenly. Kei had accidentally switched the channel over to the local news, and they were airing the incident. 

“... pled guilty yesterday to attempted robbery and attempted manslaughter after shooting a sixteen-year-old Karasuno High school student in an armed robbery almost two weeks ago. He was captured by police days after fleeing the Family Mart convenience store in Torono and was sentenced to fifteen years in prison.” 

Both Kei and Amaya were tense, avoiding eye contact as the news anchor blinked off screen, switching to an aerial view of the local Family Mart. A second anchor stood outside the entrance with a microphone in hand, discussing further details that Amaya knew could only be from the police report. She recognized a live feed of Hashimoto, hands in his pockets, talking to the anchor about what the officer saw when he arrived on scene. 

The interview continued as Hashimoto described his part in the events.

“... I kicked in the door and saw these kids - two teenagers, a third person in her twenties. One of them was on the floor, blood all over the place - he was the one our guy shot. The other two were hunched over him, and our perp was nowhere to be seen. We didn’t find out he took off down the street until we talked to the cashier after the ambulance left.” 

The screen switched to a cut of another officer interview as Kei exhaled harshly and Amaya clenched her fists out of nervousness. It wasn’t a long interview, and soon the scene switched back to the first anchor. After a few parting words, the short segment ended with a discordantly cheerful statement that ‘The Torono Family Mart will be re-opening its doors at 8am tomorrow morning.’

As the broadcast finished, Amaya realized that, aside from the shooter’s and Officer Hashimoto’s, no other names were mentioned in the story - none of the other eyewitnesses were even interviewed. 

_What does that mean?_ She wondered, _Do they not need Kei’s identity after all, or is it only a matter of time until they find it? And what about the other eyewitnesses?_ The exhausted mother spent a considerable amount of energy trying to convince herself that this was it, that it was over, but her better judgement told her it wasn’t. The media vultures had their preliminary story, but it was only a matter of time before they got the rest. 

Amaya turned back to Kei and saw his pale face and dilated pupils, still entranced by the storefront he hadn’t seen since the night of the tragedy. He looked like he was going to be sick. Amaya slowly reached out with the intention of placing a hand on his shoulder, but stopped short of actually touching him, paralyzed by a side to her son she hadn’t seen in years. Racking her brain, Amaya Tsukishima couldn’t remember the last time Kei looked that _scared._

“Kei?” 

No answer. 

“...That...that was…” His near-silent stuttering was scaring her. She tried again. 

“Kei?” 

The second time she got his attention. He shook his head suddenly as if he were only just been startled awake from a deep sleep. Realizing the remote was still in his hand, Kei turned off the television before the reality show airing after the news could switch over. He continued to stare for several more seconds before finally speaking. 

“What the hell,” he rasped, his voice trembling. 

Amaya knew from last night’s conversation with Ms. Morita that the story would hit the news eventually, she just didn’t think it would be this soon. Though she wasn’t sure whether or not to tell Kei about the lawyer’s visit, she at least figured she would have more time to decide. Now she had to find a way to handle the situation unprepared. 

“A crime this serious in a small town like Torono is bound to get media attention. The lawyer told us - ” Kei’s face turned sour as he cut her off mid-sentence. 

“The lawyer? You mean you knew? You knew this would be on TV and you didn’t tell me?” 

A look of shock rippled across Amaya’s face as she realized what she’d said. She folded her hands over her mouth. 

“Oh, honey, I didn’t - I mean - ” 

“When were you going to warn me about this? Tell me that my privacy would be violated? I nearly _lost my life_ that night! Is this a joke?” 

Amaya saw the kaleidoscope of emotions pass over her son’s face in the time it took him to finish his sentence - anger, betrayal, fear, and anger again. She wanted nothing more than to cradle him in her arms, to hug him close against her chest and tell him that she would solve all of his problems, but she quickly realized the effort would be useless. Somewhere along the line, Kei seemed to have outgrown her. She tried to remember when he’d stopped asking her to pick him up while they were in the grocery store, too tired to walk anymore, when he’d stopped running down the stairs to ask for help with his homework, or when he’d stopped throwing open the front door to show her the little collection of bugs he’d found in the backyard. Somewhere along the line, Kei had shut himself off from her, wanted her around less, until now, it felt like he didn’t want her at all. She knew every child had to grow up eventually, but she was not prepared for the day Kei would not need her anymore. 

_Is any parent ever ready to let go?_

“Your father and I were going to tell you, but we didn’t think they would air the story this soon.” She placed her hand on his knee, testing the waters to see if he would accept her comfort, and was surprised when he didn’t immediately pull away. “I’m sorry, Kei. I know this hurts. But I love you, and I really do want to help you through this.” 

He paused and for a moment, Amaya thought he might actually consider lowering his walls. 

“You know what would help most?” 

“What?” she asked, almost eagerly. 

“If you just left me alone.” And with that, Kei pushed himself onto his feet, painfully making his way upstairs to his bedroom, leaving his mother sitting in the living room alone.

* * *

It was another two hours before Yoshirou lumbered out of his home office like a bear emerging from its cave, more than enough time for Kei to have settled into bed. Amaya had come in a few times to try to talk her son into eating dinner once it was finished, but he’d brushed her off each time, practically shoving her out of the room with all the emotional force of a hurricane. She tried the same with Yoshirou as well, with almost identical results. The flustered housewife marveled at how similar the two were. 

“Like father, like son,” she huffed as she traversed the stairs back down from Kei’s bedroom for the umpteenth time that night. 

Eventually, Amaya gave it up as a bad job and decided to watch TV downstairs, flipping past cheesy drama after bad reality show until Yoshirou finally decided he was done working for the night. She couldn’t wait until she could finally discuss her troubles with the only man she ever cared to - her husband. 

“It’s late,” she remarked as he shuffled down the stairs after nine o’clock at night. His shoulders sagged as he used the railing for support. His suit jacket was conspicuously missing and the sleeves of his dress shirt were haphazardly rolled up over his elbows. If Amaya didn’t know any better, she’d say her husband was really feeling his age. Yoshirou Tsukishima exuded fatigue. 

“I know. Long day.” As he reached the bottom of the staircase, the worn out businessman lifted his hands to his throat and loosened his tie, unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt to give himself room to breathe. Amaya muted the TV and shifted on the couch so she could face him. 

“You wouldn’t let me in the room earlier. I had to put your dinner in the fridge.” Yoshirou sighed as he crossed the living room and entered the kitchen. 

“I was busy, and it couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Sorry, Amaya.” 

Amaya could hear the soft release as her husband opened the refrigerator, the clink of the dishes as he shifted them around, resounding through the silence of the living room like a slow drip in an empty sink. Suddenly, Yoshirou spoke again. 

“There are two dishes in here,” he called, “Did Kei eat?” 

_No, he didn’t._ She had put her son’s dinner in the fridge as well after he turned her away from his bedroom hours ago. Amaya had tried to focus her mind elsewhere whenever she and Kei had a fight, but her thoughts always landed back on her eldest, the sweet little boy who took his own life with a few handfuls of sleeping pills. She couldn’t help but to miss him, to wonder where he was now, if there was an afterlife where he could finally be at peace. She kept seeing him, always out of the corner of her eye, reading manga with his feet up on the coffee table or pouring a bowl of late-night cereal at the counter by the dishwasher. The more she saw him the more it hurt, especially when she would snap out of the vision and realize her beloved Akiteru was dead.

Shaking away her thoughts like an Etch-a-Sketch, Amaya followed Yoshirou to the kitchen and began doing dishes, the slow, steady warmth of the water and repetition of movement serving to distract her from the sadness that was forever on the fringe of her thoughts. 

_Akiteru._

“No, he didn’t. I had to fight with him just to get him to take his meds earlier,” she replied, ignoring her thoughts, instead casting her mind back to one of her many arguments with Kei over the last couple hours. It was a vicious cycle. 

“He needs to eat with his meds, Amaya, or he’s going to get sick. I assume you told him that?” 

“I did, but you know how he is.” Amaya stopped scrubbing and placed the skillet she was holding in the sink, looking at her husband in exasperation, “He insisted he had some granola bars in his desk drawer, and told me to get out of his room.” 

Yoshirou lifted his dinner out of the fridge and closed the door behind him. Making his way across the kitchen, he popped the dish into the microwave, grabbed some silverware from the drawer beside him, and placed them on the counter at its side. 

“And you listened to him?” he asked as he leaned back against the granite surface, “You’re his mother. You’re supposed to be the one who tells him what to do.” Amaya had turned back around and resumed washing dishes, methodically placing pots, plates, and silverware into the drying rack to distract herself from Yoshirou’s judgemental tone. Reaching for a serving spoon in the sink, she had a flashback of Akiteru helping her clean, reaching for the same spoon. 

_“Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’ll get this one.”_

Her breath froze in her throat as she tried to focus on the task at hand. _What did Yoshirou say just now?_

“Why do you care?” she questioned, picking up the frayed strings of conversation through her haze, “You didn’t call me once all day to ask how he was doing.” 

The microwave went off in the midst of their conversation, its irritating beep splitting the air between them like a bolt of lightning. Yoshirou turned around and, opening the metal door, removed his dinner from its metal prison. 

“I told you I was busy today,” he said as he stirred his beef and vegetables with his silverware. Scooping a portion with a fork, he took a bite, pausing his sentence until he swallowed. “Besides, if something had happened, you’d have called me panicking. No news is usually good news.” 

Giving up on the dishes as a bad job, Amaya threw down the sponge and pan she was holding and turned from the sink to face her husband. 

“That isn’t the point, and you know it! How am I supposed to know you care if you don’t tell me?” Taking a moment to steady herself, Amaya closed the short distance between the sink and the kitchen table, slumping onto an open chair and dropping her face into her hands. She was so tired. Arguing with her husband was the last thing she wanted to do tonight, if she was being honest with herself. After the hellish week and a half they’d had, all Amaya wanted was to curl up next to him in their bed with a glass of wine and a good movie, a much needed respite from the nightmare their lives had become.

“I’ve been here with him all day, making sure he eats, changes his bandages, takes his meds,” she continued, “Don’t rip your stitches, Kei. Don’t strain yourself, Kei. Let me get that for you, Kei. But it’s hard. He argues with me. Every step of the way, he puts up a fight, and I think, ‘I want you to get better more than anything in the world, why don’t you?’” 

Before long, Amaya was crying, the tears having slipped past her defenses before she realized what was happening. She had just meant to give a short quip or two, but what had started as two words grew into twenty. As soon as she opened her mouth the floodgates opened, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if they would ever stop. 

“All I wanted was for you to check in. I spent my day doing nothing but fighting, and just once, I wanted to know you were on my side.” 

“Since when am I not on your side?” Yoshirou sputtered in a rare moment of lost composure as he set his dinner down on the counter and stood from his leaning position across the room. Amaya watched him tense, his face darken, as sadness, grief, and anger flooded his features. 

“I have been in your corner since day one. The night Akiteru died I dropped everything and flew halfway across the globe so that you wouldn’t have to deal with this alone. I sat in that emergency room with you as long as you needed as we waited for what might happen to Kei. I took care of you when you were so broken that you could barely get home on your own.” 

As he spoke he gradually moved closer to her, taking step after step until he was inches from her face, more of his polite facade slipping away with each phrase he uttered. Amaya gathered the strength to look up at him, every iota of his fury and his heartbreak directed at her. 

“I started a family with you. I built us a life, and I love you and our boys more than anything in the world. So don’t tell me I’m not on your side, because any excuse you have is a lie.” 

Amaya visibly flinched as her husband’s words cut through to her core. His mention of Akiteru unlocked all the painful memories she’d tried to suppress since the funeral, and it took every ounce of restraint she had not to fall to pieces in the middle of Yoshirou’s righteous tirade. Before she knew it, Yoshirou had stormed out of the room, leaving his dinner and his wife behind him. 

* * *

Sugawara sat in his bedroom at seven o’clock that night feeling absolutely drained. He’d started his homework over an hour ago, but quit part way through when he started to lose focus to the point that his English vocab blurred on the page. Sugawara’s stomach growled and he remembered he needed to eat something. 

_I wonder when mom will be done with dinner?_

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, the setter lifted himself from his sitting position and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, all the while pushing the residual panic and embarrassment from the day’s incident to the back of his mind. It had taken the teachers well into sixth period to find Sugawara after his meltdown in the storage room. It wasn’t until about ten minutes before class that Mrs. Onishi realized that the third year hadn’t come back from his errand, and, after a quick glance into the storage room to see what was keeping him only to find it empty, ran to the classroom across the hall and enlisted the help of the history teacher in her search. By the time they’d pushed open the door to the boys’ bathroom Sugawara had already calmed down, cleaned himself up, and was standing at the sink by the door, reaching under the faucet and splashing cold water onto his face. He apologized for not completing his task, saying that the test tubes weren’t where they were supposed to be, and that before he could come back to relay that information, something else had come up. If either teacher noticed that Sugawara’s eyes were still bloodshot, they gave no indication. 

When the third year reached the kitchen, he found his mother leaning over the island in front of the miniature TV by the entranceway, a cup of hot cocoa in her hand and a commercial for a new brand of cereal blaring in front of her. 

“Oh, Koushi! I’m glad you’re here. Roast is in the oven; I was just about to call you down,” She straightened herself and furiously waved him over. “The local news is on. I thought you might want to see this.” 

Sugawara stepped out of the hallway and joined his mother at the island. The table was already made, with three neat little sets of glistening silverware and painted pfaltzgraff plates arranged around its polished surface. Carefully placed in the center of the table were two bowls, one containing fluffy, buttered mashed potatoes and the other seasoned corn, and a basket filled with cornbread. Reaching over toward the basket, Sugawara nabbed a slice of bread and put it to his lips just in time for the commercial to end. He leaned on the marble surface of the island with his mother and turned his attention toward the television. 

Sugawara’s chest tightened at the news’ account of the incident at the Torono Town Family Mart. Though the only major name they mentioned was the shooter’s, most of the other details were there: the time frame, the number of shots fired - even the basics of Tsukishima’s injuries. He felt a cold sweat trickle under his arms and down the back of his neck at the mention of a wound that was still so raw. Sugawara was so preoccupied with the gripping fear in the center of his chest, he almost didn’t hear his mother speak beside him. 

“That matches up with what you told the Tsukishimas, doesn’t it, pumpkin? They didn’t get anything wrong, did they?” Sugawara gave her a stiff nod. 

“That’s right. That’s what happened.” 

The third year knew their next step would be to come talk to him, that the only reason his name wasn’t in the broadcast was as a courtesy. It was how these things tended to work. Torono was a small town, and a combined shooting/attempted robbery didn’t happen often. The local news would release just enough information to keep the masses wanting more, while saving the big info for another broadcast. Some sleazy reporter would track him down in the next couple days, trick him into spilling his guts about his experience with the whole incident, and then release the ‘new’ story as an exclusive. It wasn’t about keeping people informed anymore, it was about entertaining the masses - and nothing entertained people more than an average, down to earth teenager and his quick brush with death. People just ate that stuff up. Sugawara began to wonder when he’d become so cynical. 

Suddenly, the oven began to beep, shrilly and incessantly, and Chizue turned from her conversation with her son to address dinner. She slid a pair of oven mitts onto her hands and opened the creaky hatch, releasing a wave of heat so strong, it felt like a physical presence in the room. Sugawara felt the hot air blast his face as his mother reached into the oven and slowly pulled the pot roast from its haven. As she carried the dish to the table, Sugawara followed her. 

“Mom, I… I’m… worried.” Chizue placed the roast on a large basket-woven trivet, whipping the oven mitts off her hands and stuffing them in a drawer. Sugawara noticed his mother always seemed to be full of life, bustling about all over the house, never quite catching her breath. He’d never realized how nice it felt to be around that kind of energy when he felt so cloudy and sluggish. 

“About what? The news?” 

“Yeah. You think there’s a reason they didn’t mention our names?” Chizue stopped what she was doing and, too lively to sit down, leaned against the back of a chair instead, her fingers drumming against the carved wood. Sugawara absentmindedly wondered where his mother’s energy came from. She never drank coffee, said the taste was too bitter for her. 

“Well, Kei’s a minor, and you’re still in high school, so I’d say they probably want to get your perspective before they make any personal information public. Is that what’s scaring you? Talking to a reporter?” 

Sugawara pulled a chair out from the table and sat down, bringing one leg up underneath him while the other hung off the side. Hands in front of him, he picked at a frayed thread on the faded pastel upholstery. He nodded. 

“Well, just remember, pumpkin.” His mother left the chair she leaned against and knelt at Sugawara’s side, reassuringly patting his thigh. “You don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to. You have every right to tell them to buzz off.” She said it with an amused tilt to her voice, one Sugawara knew was an attempt to get him to laugh. His mouth curved a little as a consolation. 

“And if they continue to bother you, I’ll just have to march down there and give them all a good thumping, myself.” Ruffling his hair, Chizue smiled warmly and pushed herself to her feet. 

“Thanks, mom.” 

“Absolutely, dear. Now go get your father. Dinner’s ready.” 

As Sugawara stood and left the room, he found himself so absorbed in his mother’s confidence, that he wondered if a reporter would even bother to talk to him at all.


End file.
